The House That Jack Built
by Keywee
Summary: Before there was a Joker, there was a man named Jack. Jack lived a perfect life, in a perfect house, with a perfect wife. But, as life commonly is, what seemed perfect, was anything but. Or at least that is how the Joker is remembering it today.
1. Prologue

**Hey everyone,**

**This is a possible back story for the Joker. I have taken his origins from The Killing Joke and Batman: Mask of the Phantasm, and combined them. This is not meant to be canon and the Joker (as the actual Joker), will not be making an appearance until the end. Since the Joker's past is a mystery, I thought it may be fun to explore the options. This is meant to be a memory out of the mind of madman. So, please take it for what it is! Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: These characters are owned by DC Comic.**

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><p><strong>"Something like that happened to me, you know. I...I'm not exactly sure what it was. Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes another. If I'm going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice."<strong>

**-The Joker, The Killing Joke**

**Prologue-**

"I'm home," Jack shouted, as he walked through the door of his placid, suburban home.

The moment he heard the door click behind him he could feel the tension hanging in the air. He looked to his left into the den, where his children normally played, but found no one. He assumed his children were already asleep. He paused for a moment to look up the staircase to make sure he hadn't woken them. He then set his sights down the long hallway into his kitchen. He could hear the sounds of plates clanking together and water splashing. The light aroma of what had been for dinner still lingered in the air.

He sighed deeply and prepared himself for the wrath that he was about to encounter. As he slowly crept down the hallway he began to admire the family pictures that graced the walls. Each one was happy and joyful. Indicative of a perfect, loving family. Some posed; some not. Pictures of family vacations, home comings of babies, and precious milestones. The last picture he passed was taken on his wedding day. The young optimistic girl that stood alongside him seemed like a stranger. Although she looked the same, she wasn't the same.

He paused for a moment before he crossed the threshold into the kitchen. He turned his eyes upward and said a silent prayer, to whatever god may have been listening, that she wouldn't be able to smell the liquor on his breath or the cheap perfume worn by the woman who had propositioned him that night.

"Jeannie, I'm home," he said, softly as he leaned against the door frame. He shifted his gaze from her, hoping that withholding eye-contact, would somehow restrain the coming argument.

She didn't bother to look up from the sink. "You're late," she replied, in a heavy, southern accent.

He noticed her entire body stiffen, as if she were repulsed by his mere presence.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "Traffic was bad….."

"Just stop," she interrupted. "Your dinner is on the stove."

His shoulders dropped. "I've already eaten."

She gritted her teeth as she grabbed the plate of food that had been waiting for him and forcefully dropped its contents into the trash.

"It's a shame that old man you work for gets more attention than your family does," she said, as she began to wash the plate that had held his ill-fated dinner.

He felt a twinge of relief that his stop at the local bar had seemingly gone unnoticed. He began to walk towards her, but then thought better of it. From this distance the tell-tale signs of his true whereabouts where harder to distinguish. As long as she thought that he had just been working late, there was no reason to make her think otherwise.

"You know I have to work Jeannie," he said, dryly. "This place doesn't pay for itself. Besides, I owe everything to Sal. He has afforded us a good life…for you to stay home with the kids…" He stopped for a moment and chose he words carefully. "… For our family to move out of Gotham and into to this house when you were sick and had your accident."

She tentatively looked up from the dishes. "I've been sick here too, Jack."

He felt her desperate eyes staring through him. It sent a wave of terror down his spine. He knew what she meant. He had recognized her behavior change. She was acting like she had before. Before…never mind… there was no importance in recounting the events that had brought them to the suburbs. The doctor said to move her out of Gotham. To act as if everything was completely normal. And, that is what Jack intended to do.

He shrugged her words off as if they were never even spoken.

"I thought you liked it here? You were making friends with that neighbor lady. What was her name?"

"Sarah," Jeannie whispered.

"Yeah…Sarah. She seemed nice and her kids were the same age as ours."

She sighed. "They moved away six months ago, but I wouldn't expect you to know that since you're never here and when you are, you're never sober."

He gritted his teeth as he felt a hot rush blood that made his ears ring. "You know that isn't true," he shouted, as he forcefully moved across the kitchen towards her.

She startled slightly at his aggression. He was never like that towards her. No matter how out of hand an argument would become, he would never attempt to intimidate her. And, this was not the time to try new tactics; there was too much bitterness. Too much hostility.

She slammed her hands into her hips and turned towards him to meet his gaze. "If it wasn't so pitiful, it would almost be funny. Do you think that I am stupid enough not to know about the stacks of bottles in the garage? That I couldn't smell the alcohol on you as soon as you walked through the door? For Christ's sake, Jack, are you ever sober anymore?"

He slammed his hands down against the counter. "Maybe if I had something worth coming home to I would make more of an effort."

She bit her bottom lip as her cheeks became red. "We have been married for eleven years. Eleven, good and bad years. You would think that I might mean somethin' to you by now."

"Jeannie, you know you do. Things are just so different now. You're like a ghost."

She cut her eyes towards him in disgust. He was trying to turn it around on her. Make this all her fault.

"Maybe I'm not enough anymore. Maybe I am a ghost, but what about your two daughters, or your son. Have you forgotten about them?"

"Of course not," he spat out through gritted teeth.

She sighed deeply; crossing her arms over her chest. "I had an appointment with Dr. Peters today," She almost couldn't bring herself to say the next words. "And I'm pregnant…_again."_

Jack's expression softened. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I didn't notice. I should have known," he said, as he tried to embrace his wife. "That is such wonderful news."

She pushed him away. _"Wonderful?" _Her voice was incredulous.

"You don't think so?"

She was almost slack jawed at his ignorance. "Yes, how wonderful! How silly of me not to see the _blessin' _of another child to raise by myself. Please, won't you forgive me?"

"You have not raised our children by yourself," he became wide eyed and defiant. "I've been a good father."

"You think bein' a good father means, not beatin' the shit out of your kids like your father did. But, do you realize it has been two days since you have even seen your children. You leave before they're awake and come home after they're in bed. I don't know how by any stretch of the imagination you call yourself a man…let alone a father."

He sucked in a sharp breath as his right hand balled into a tight fist. If nothing else he adored his children, and how dare she question that. Before he could stop himself he began to swing at her, but was stopped short by the sight of her quickly turning from him and covering her face. He changed the direction of his blow at the last moment and connected his fist against the nearby refrigerator. He felt the sharp pain of the punch reverberate up his arm and into his shoulder, then the familiar sensation of warm blood dripping down his hand.

Soft sobs made him turn quickly to the hallway. His heart sank when he saw his oldest child, Heather, wiping the tears from her cheeks. The fear on her face made him sick to his stomach. He stood frozen, at a loss on how to proceed.

Jeannie rushed past him to their daughter.

"Jeannie…I…I…"

She stopped him. "We will talk about it later." She avoided looking at him. "Just take care of your hand and I will take care of her." Her voice was gentle as she guided Heather down the hallway.

Jack breathed deeply, trying to calm himself as he watched his wife and daughter fade into the darkness. He stood silent until he heard them reach the top stair that always made a horrible creak that would echo throughout the house, each time someone passed over it.

"I've been meaning to fix that step," he said to himself with a cynical chuckle, as he examined the large cut across his knuckles. "I guess I deserve this." He let the shame hit him directly in the gut.

As he ran cool water over his bleeding hand, he looked around and observed the hollowness of his home. It was a beautiful house. There was no denying it. But underneath the veil, it was very sad. His entire life was a source of envy for many of his acquaintances. He was a favorite of his boss, owned a perfect two story home in the suburbs that was filled with a perfect wife and three perfect children. Everything looked good; therefore it was good.

After he cleaned his wound and wrapped it tightly in a bandage, he retreated to the couch. He thought it best to let her cool off over night- no reason to pour gasoline on a fire. It had been so long since he had even sat on this piece of furniture, that he almost had forgotten what it felt like.

His time at home was sparse, and when he did find his way home he would make a hasty retreat to the garage, where he would secretly indulge his vice. He couldn't even remember the last time he actually ate dinner with his family. He sighed with guilt knowing that his daughter's frightened face was the only sight that he had of her in the last two days. His absence hadn't even occurred to him until Jeannie pointed it out.

He closed his eyes tightly. "This has to stop."

No matter what the evidence implied, he did love his children. In fact he couldn't imagine his life without them. Although in many ways, he emotionally neglected them; he was a good provider of material things and made sure that they wanted for nothing. His job made him do gruesome things, to sometimes innocent people. His children were an unseen comfort and silent stability. They were the only things pure in his life.

They were his humanity.

He rolled to his side and noticed a picture of Jeannie placed carefully on the mantel. It was taken the night he met her. The woman in the picture and the woman he had just argued with were totally different people. From their first meeting, he had noticed a spark of madness in her that was, at first, exhilarating, but now terrified him. He couldn't help, but think back to the days when he was merely a glorified chauffeur for Salvatore Valestra. Before he had anything...

Before he met her…


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1-**

_My dearest brother Jack,_

_I hope that this letter finds you well. I was visiting our Aunt Helen last month and she enlightened me to the recent events in your life. I realize that being your younger sister, you have always wanted to protect me, but I really would have appreciated knowing that you were injured. _

_She told me that you were discharged and didn't even bother to come home. So how are you enjoying Gotham City? I have never understood your fascination with that place. There is nothing there other than hookers and freaks. Well, on second thought, maybe you will fit in._

_Although, I am sure that Aunt Helen has thrilled you with all of the goings on in my life, I will update you myself. I am now residing in North Carolina. I live in a small town by the sea called Beaufort. There is a small island separating the mainland from the ocean, where I can watch wild ponies graze from my front porch. I always told you, I would someday live on the shore. _

_My husband and I are expecting our first child this summer. I could not be happier! By the way, I crossed paths with your old flame while I was home. Marybeth is looking very well and she spoke quite fondly of you. I do believe that she is still waiting for you. Although, if I were you I would stay clear of her father. For future reference, it is never a good idea to steal the virtue of a preacher's daughter then write her a break up letter from boot camp._

_In all seriousness, Jack, I miss you very much. I hope that you have kept your sense of humor. Our mother always said that you would one day make millions of people laugh. So much time has passed since our father left us with Aunt Helen. I barely remember the life we had before. At times I even have a hard time remembering our mother. I want to see you soon, so you do not begin to fade from my memory as well_

_My husband has connections in Gotham and is willing to put you in contact with a businessman named Salvatore Valestra. After you meet him you will feel as though you have sold your soul, but I promise, he will pay you well. And Jack, please behave yourself when you meet him and be as charming as only you can be._

_Your favorite sister,_

_Molly_

Jack read over the letter that his sister had sent him several months ago. He crumpled it in his fist then threw it into the nearest trash can. She was right; he did feel like he had sold his soul to Sal Valestra. When he hired on, he was told he was going to be a driver and provide protection. But soon he was being given increasingly sinister jobs. Eventually, he had so much blood on his hands there was no way to get out.

He straightened his tie as he looked himself over in the mirror. Sometimes when he looked at himself he would see the young boy that he had once been. He thought back to the words of his sister. He too had trouble remembering his mother, and the life he had before her death.

Normally when it came to family matters, his memory would fail. But, try as he might, the memory of his mother's funeral was burnt into him. He could remember every gut-wrenching moment; every heartbreaking detail. It would always be with him.

As he stared at himself, he could feel the same cold sweat begin to form on his brow that had been there when he was a thirteen year old boy, standing at the head of an aisle looking at his mother's casket. Before he could stop it, the memories flooded his thoughts and he was back to that day.

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><p>He had never seen a dead body before. The winter before his uncle was killed in a car accident, but the casket had been closed. He remembered his parents talking about the body being too mangled to be seen. Jack knew his mother had not been in an accident, but he still worried that what he would look at when he peered into her coffin, would be too horrific to ever be forgotten. He hadn't seen his mother since she went into the hospital a week prior. He knew that she was sick, but no one had prepared him for the possibility that she could die.<p>

He glanced to his right and noticed the tears beginning to puddle in his younger sister's eyes. And, seeing her tears made a painful knot catch in his throat. When he looked at her, he could imagine what his mother must have looked like when she was a child. Molly had a round face with dimples that formed on her pale cheeks when she smiled and straight long red hair. The usual sparkle of mischief that lit her eyes was missing, and replaced by a dull haze.

"Come on, Molly," he spoke gently, as he took her hand.

Each foot step took incredible effort and drained him of resolve. His summer was not supposed to be like this. When school had let out he imagined playing baseball with his friends and trying to beat the street lights as he ran home for dinner, so he wouldn't be scolded for staying out past curfew. He looked forward to summer camp and jumping in the lake to escape the sweltering heat. He imagined the pretty brunette girl, that always stayed in cabin 414, and the possibility of a stealing a kiss that would make the swarms of insects and sticky, hot humidity worth it.

No, his summer was not supposed to be like this.

When his mother, Anna, had left him and Molly alone at home to go to the doctor, they had expected her to come home with the news of another baby. When their parents called them into the den for a family meeting, they were sure of it. Jack could remember his confusion when his mother said the word cancer. He knew that his grandmother had died from cancer before he was born, but that was truly all he knew about it. Anna assured her children she would be fine and that life would go on as normal. That was a month prior to the long walk Jack was taking to her casket.

He paused for a moment as he could see the tops of his mother's folded fingers. Fear began to rise inside him and stole his breath. His father, Joseph, was seated at the head of the coffin. His hands cradled his face and trails of dried tears weaved through his fingers.

Jack swallowed hard to hold back his own tears, and then took the last impossible step forward.

He was shocked by the _lack_ of what he saw. Nothing frightening or scarring. She looked like herself; as if she were only sleeping. Her long red hair flowed down her shoulders, framing her pale face. She wore her favorite blue dress and her thin fingers intertwined delicately across her stomach.

The occasional push of Molly peeking around him to build her courage was the only thing that kept him remotely grounded in reality. Seeing his still young mother was surreal. Suddenly, the childish, magical thinking that what he was seeing wasn't real overcame his rational thoughts. He watched her stomach, hoping to see the ever so slight rise and fall of a breath.

Maybe if he touched her hand, he would wake her from her slumber. So many times as a child, he would slip into her room and gently shake or tap her to rouse her awake. It would certainly work this time too.

He rested his hand on the edge of the casket. Everything was so cold; so harsh. The smell of the copious amounts of flowers that surrounded her was so sickeningly sweet that it almost made him gag. He looked to his father, then back to his mother. Why was he so upset? This was all just a dream- some sick joke of the universe. As soon as he touched her and said, "Mom", it would all be over and everything would be back to normal.

This was it.

He was going to do it.

His mouth became dry and he felt as though he was cemented in place. His mother's hands were always warm and soft; full of the love only a mother has for her child. There was nothing to be afraid of.

"Mom..."

"Mom..."

"Mom!" His voice traveled from timid to frantic, as he reached for her hand.

As soon as he came in contact with her skin, he recoiled. This wasn't what he knew. This wasn't how he wanted to remember her. She was cold and hard. Nothing like the mother he had known.

_No, this was all wrong._

His stomach twisted with nausea as he turned away. Everything was closing in around him. It was all becoming dark and he couldn't keep his bearings. The only thing that he could see clearly was the door.

He began to sprint towards his only escape. He didn't notice anyone or anything... he just had to get out. He slammed through the sanctuary doors before the first tear fell. His body doubled over in pain; he couldn't imagine a life without her. She was a mother in every sense of the word and he loved her more than he ever realized.

As mourners entered the church, he slipped around the corner to hide his grief. A cool breeze caught up to him and calmed the hot tears that streamed down his face. He sucked in long breaths as he tried to reconcile what had befallen his family. Nothing would ever be the same.

He wasn't sure how it happened, but he found himself back inside, sitting quietly as a minister read verses from the bible. He couldn't take his eyes from his mother. The disbelief was numbing, yet he was full of questions. Who was going to take care of him and Molly, now? Who was going to pack their lunches? Who was going to make sure they made it to the bus on time? Who was going to make sure their laundry magically made its way back into the closet? Yes, they had their father, but he was just as helpless without her as they were. Who was going to be their mom? No one ever gets too old to need their mom, and a thirteen year old boy and a ten year old girl were just on the cusp of what life would hand them. They needed their mother.

His thoughts began to wander to the summer before. He reminisced on playing catch with his father, as his mother and sister caught fireflies in the front yard. He could remember their laughter drowning out every other sound. No thirteen year old boy lived his life with the goal of making memories, but Jack was very glad to have this one.

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><p>"Stop it," Jack said through gritted teeth, as he grabbed his forehead.<p>

Much to Jack's dismay traumatic events from his past often haunted him. It wasn't always memories of his mother's death. Sometimes it was of his father's radical transformation after her demise. Joseph had always been a very jovial, family man. He promptly came home at five o'clock and kissed his wife. Over dinner he would ask his family about their days and then would play catch with his son, until it was too dark to see. He always read Molly a book before she fell asleep and would peek in on Jack before retiring to his room.

Nothing of this man existed after his wife died. He would come home sporadically; often leaving his children alone so he could go drown his sorrows. He became mean and confrontational, picking fights with whomever crossed his path. Jack was normally the one who suffered the brunt of his father's wrath. Often he put himself in place of his sister. He felt that he was both older and stronger, and could handle the beatings better. It left him scarred both on the outside and in.

Family tragedy was not the only thing that encroached on Jack's everyday life. Memories of his time in the military would stop him in his tracks. He enjoyed being a serviceman and planned to make a career of it until an ambush changed those plans. The cries and screams from Jack's friends and comrades would wake him at night. After he was discharged he had increasingly severe headaches and sudden, loud sounds would almost cripple him.

His new career, ever so horrible as it was, began to exorcise those demons. No matter how gruesome the job, he was able to remove himself from the present and take out his pent up frustration on his victim. Jack didn't enjoy his job, but didn't despise it either. Not everyone is dealt a good hand in life, and this was Jack's way of coping with his raw deal.

Tonight, though, he couldn't wallow in the sorrow of the injustices of his past. This night would not be one that concerned collecting a debt or silencing a snitch. This would be an easy night of driving Sal Valestra to his destination, making sure his was safe through the night, and then returning him to his home. Jack enjoyed these easy nights and there were very few of them. He wasn't going to let this one be overtaken by troublesome memories.

There was a large gala at the Gotham Plaza Hotel that Sal was attending, alongside some of Gotham's most influential citizens. Those who were hosting the event were publicizing it as a charity fundraiser, but in the few short months Jack had worked for Sal, he had learned that charity fundraisers were just an excuse for the wealthy to undeservedly congratulate each other on being rulers of the world.

Not being welcome, Jack sat alone on a bench outside the ballroom. He leaned against the wall behind him and took in the opulence that surrounded him. He was not poor while growing up, but a place like the Gotham Plaza Hotel was not somewhere his family would've been. He felt out of place and the sideways glances that were being shot in his direction did nothing to soften that feeling.

It was all so monotonous. These people were carbon copies of each other- nothing different or distinguishing. He wondered what it must be like to have so much money that your only worry was if your driver would be on time. What it must be like to look at everything and everyone as your inferior. _Why yes, my coat does cost more than your house and I have a yacht that costs more than you will ever earn in your life._ _Now shine my shoes._

He closed his eyes out of boredom and pushed the brim of his hat down. He had hours of this left to endure and there was nothing worth keeping his attention. He began to feel himself drifting off to sleep when the faint echo of a woman's clicking high heels coming closer made him look up.

Jeannie noticed him sitting next to the ballroom doors, but didn't give him any further thought. He was nothing; beneath her in every way. Just some sleaze off the street that lucked into a mindless driver job. Men like him were a dime a dozen. Nothing more than dust on the gilded life she led.

Though, to her he may have been a speck; to him she was magnificent. Tall and lean with pale skin and long, blonde hair. She wore a long black dress that tied around her neck and red shoes that kicked out underneath her hemline with every step across the marble floor.

She was beautiful and it was impossible not to stare. She was the first girl to catch his attention since his high school sweetheart, Marybeth. Jack was normally quite confidant with members of the fairer sex, but this girl made his phony assurance curl up in a tight ball. He couldn't stop admiring her. She was like a magnet. But, somehow as she approached the ballroom entrance he forced himself to look away.

As she placed her hands on the doors, she turned her eyes to him. Upon closer inspection, she found him somewhat intriguing. Young and handsome, not at all the description of men that usually fell into his position.

"Why aren't you inside?" Her voice was cold and superior.

He quickly looked around to see if there was anyone else that she might have been talking to. It was obvious from his cheap suit and scuffed shoes that he wasn't one of the golden few that were welcome to enter through those doors. And, he was damn well sure that she knew that.

He felt somewhat insulted by her ploy to act ignorant of his social status. It tore through his ego that she was showing him some kind of pity by noticing him. If he stayed silent maybe she would move along and let him be.

She crossed her arms and sighed before walking in front of him. "Do you speak?"

He hesitantly looked up. "I do."

She stood over him as if she were scolding a child. "Again, why aren't you inside?"

"I wasn't invited."

"Hmmm…well…that's a shame." She nonchalantly sat down beside him and gracefully folded her hands across her lap.

"And why is that?"

She whimsically looked up. "Well there is good food, good drink, good company…and of course... there's me."

"But, you're out here with me."

"Only for the moment." She leaned back, against the wall. "Soon I will be in there dancin' the night away."

Jack looked down at her red shoes. "Those aren't going to be too comfortable with all of that dancing you'll be doing."

She turned up her foot to better admire her shoe. "Beauty is pain_."_

He smiled widely. "Then you must be in constant agony."

She couldn't stop the laugh from escaping her lips, but quickly brushed a hand across her mouth in a half-cocked attempt to quiet it. "Don't try to be charmin'. I'm not so easily impressed."

"I would venture to guess from your accent, you're not from around here?" He questioned.

She softly chuckled. "You'd be right. I moved here a few months ago from New Orleans."

"Home of voodoo and alligators," he said in an exaggerated southern dialect.

A sly smile crossed her face. "Don't forget about the blues."

Now he was the one to laugh. "How did you end up here?"

"Daddy's business is here now." She grinned sheepishly. "Plus my Momma, has always loved Gotham."

"Momma and Daddy," he repeated, with a chuckle.

"Yes, Momma and Daddy." She leaned forward and looked back at him over her shoulder. "And I can see that you aren't a southern gentlemen."

"Baby, I'm not any kind of gentlemen." He gave her a cunning wink then looked back down at her proudly worn shoes. "Aren't you missing your party?"

The smile slowly faded from her face. "Yes, I suppose I am." She glanced towards him coyly. "If you were invited inside, would you dance with me?"

He felt a sudden surge of childish self-consciousness.

"I-I am sure I would," he stammered.

A smug grin crossed her face as she rose to her feet. She walked with purpose to the ballroom doors, then paused before opening them.

"No, you wouldn't."

His brow furrowed. "And why is that?"

"Well, because, I have a date…of course." She smirked.

"You're cruel," he said, as he tried to suppress a grin.

"I am a good Christian lady. Would you expect anything less?" She laughed, as she pushed the doors open and disappeared inside.

As he heard the ballroom door slam he suddenly felt sheer exhaustion. As if the encounter with the pretty blonde sucked all of the energy out of him. He had never seen anything like her before. She was like a force of nature. Something that he couldn't escape...not that he wanted to.

He rested his head against the wall. "That one will be the death of me."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>


	3. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! It is very motivating. In this chapter there is a reference to a vehicle called a 7-ton. For those who don't know what it is…it's a large military transport vehicle. You see it in all the war movies; the big truck with a bunch of guys stuffed in the back of it. There is also a joke/story that Jack tells…this joke is not mine; it's an old military joke. So…. happy readying and please let me know what you think!**

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><p><strong>"<strong>_**A day without blood is like a day without sunshine." **_

_**-Private Joker, Full Metal Jacket (1987)**_

**Chapter 2-**

Jack impatiently tapped his fingers across the steering wheel as he listened to his partner, Frankie, nervously ramble from the passenger seat. The two were parked at the docks waiting to meet with someone who had become a burden to their boss. This was a constant encumbrance in his life. Always lying in wait like a snake, to devour the helpless. It always ended the same way. The murky waters that lapped against the docks held much more than ships. Although, he had become quite used to this aspect of his job, he couldn't help, but feel dread in the pit of his stomach.

Normally Jack knew nothing about the person he would have to kill. As soon as he was given a job, he would immediately begin to fantasize about the horrible life that person undoubtedly led. He would imagine that they were ruthless, abusers that were loved by no one, had no family, and no one to morn them. But, this night was different; Jack knew exactly who his hit would be. He was well aware that the usual hideous traits he imagined were anything, but true.

Anthony Meo, who went by Tony, was new to Gotham. He, like Jack, had found himself entwined in the underbelly of Gotham's more questionable society. He, Jack, and Frankie had become improbable, but fast friends. Unlike his two companions though, Tony liked to talk about his line of work. Using it as a pick up line, or mode of intimidation. This went overlooked for quite a while, but eventually his foolish, self-bolstering became a liability and he had to be quieted.

Jack remained stoic on the outside, but felt an incredible amount of remorse for what he had to do. Jack knew that he and Tony were one in the same, and only a pair of loose lips separated them. Sal Valestra's verdicts were always the most severe. If you crossed him, you died. Jack knew that at any time, he could be the one about to walk into a grim fate.

"I would much rather be parked here with a woman than you," Frankie halfheartedly joked, to lighten the mood.

"Same here," Jack replied with a grin. "What do you think Sal does when he sends us out to do this shit?"

Frankie thought for a moment. "Well I think his evening starts by fucking his girlfriend at his office, then he goes home and fucks his wife. Then he sits around smoking a cigar thinking of another way to fuck us."

"That's a lot of fucking," Jack said with a sigh, as he slid down in his seat.

"Yeah, especially for you, since you're the bitch that totes him around from place to place," Frankie bantered.

Jack rubbed his tired eyes. "I enjoy that part of my job…It gives me time to think. Plus, I don't have to listen to you."

Frankie's expression fell into mock anguish. "Why do ya gotta say things like that? I'm hurt."

Jack laughed as he turned his sights back to the dock houses. He hoped that Tony would be a no show. Even though, he and Frankie would have to hunt Tony down, it would at least postpone the inevitable.

"This could be either one of us next time, ya know?" Frankie's voice was deathly somber, as if this revelation had just occurred to him.

"No!" Jack barked. "It won't be us. We are smarter than that,"

The truth was Jack knew Frankie was all too right. It was far easier to be defiant though. _It won't happen to me._

"Yeah, we are smarter than to run our mouths all over town, but who knows what could set Sal off next time." Frankie's voice became almost frantic. "He could have told you to kill me, too." His eyes widened. "You could be planning to kill me right now."

"If I were going to kill you, I would have already done it." Jack turned slightly toward his fearful partner. "It won't be us."

Frankie's mind seemed to calm for a moment, only to be re-energized by his morose imagination. "Maybe Sal told Tony to kill us!"

Frankie had worked for Sal far longer than anyone else, but hadn't risen in the ranks. He was shorter than Jack and much stockier. He spoke and acted like he had just fallen out of a cheap mafia movie. Unless one had the time to get to know him, they would find him rather annoying. Jack had spent plenty of time with him, yet still found him annoying. All though their friendship was bristled, they still took comfort in each other's mutual experiences and found an unspoken camaraderie in their shared time as servicemen.

Frankie made up for his short stature with a fiery temper. Usually, when he and Jack were sent out on a job, Frankie was immediately ready to hand down the punishment. Jack always had to rein him in, but he was certain that would not be the case tonight. As fierce as Frankie could be, he had an unwavering loyalty and a sense of misguided morality that would be shaken by taking his friends life.

A loud knock against the driver window startled both of the men from their worried thoughts. Jack's heart sank as he turned to find Tony standing outside. Jack and Frankie traded uneasy glances to work up their courage before stepping out of the car.

"You guys are here early. Trying to impress the boss?" Tony jested.

"Yeah…uhhh…" Jack awkwardly answered. "Ya…Ya know how Frankie is…always trying to climb the corporate ladder."

Tony hesitated for a moment as he noticed the tension between his two usually gregarious partners. "So what's the job tonight?"

"Ummm…the usual." Frankie's voice shook clumsily.

Jack loudly cleared his throat to bring the attention back to himself. "There's a lot to it. There's an open dock house over there. Let's go in and I will explain it all to you."

Slowly Tony began to realize that something was amiss. This was the same speech that was given to each of their victims. He briefly thought to run, but there was no use. He had no choice, but to follow their instructions. If he ran from them, they would certainly follow. Anywhere that he went, he would be found. There was no escape.

The three men dragged their feet as they walked to the nearby dock house. Each thought over the possibilities of what could happen. Tony could fight back and take out one of the others with him. He could go down easy, or try to escape. Anything was a possibility.

As they crossed the threshold to the inside, Tony quickly turned to his colleagues. "If you are going to do this, at least do it quick."

Jack scowled as the large metal door slammed shut behind him. "Just wait…"

"No!" Tony interrupted. "Don't give me the same bullshit that we give everyone else. If you are going to do it…do it."

Jack stepped closer to Tony. "You don't even know what we are going to do."

"Y-you don't have to do anything." Tony's voice quivered as he begged for mercy. "You could just let me go. No one would ever know."

"You know we can't…"Jack began to answer, but was quickly stopped.

"Just hear me out," Tony pleaded. "I will leave the state; leave the country. I will never speak of you or any of this ever again." He backed away stumbling against an old wood table. "We always get rid of the bodies. No one would be the wiser."

Jack looked over his shoulder to Frankie, who was nervously shifting back and forth near the door. He fretfully fumbled with his pistol holster as he thought over Tony's words. Would anyone know? Tony was right, they always disposed of the bodies, and no one ever surfaced.

"Come on Jack. We're friends." Tony became more and more desperate with Jack's silence. His worried eyes turned to Frankie_. "_Frankie…please…think about it."

Before Frankie could speak, the loud echo of Jack's pistol firing resonated throughout the metal dock house; followed by the dull thump of Tony's lifeless body hitting the concrete floor. Jack stood over Tony for several moments watching the blood slowly pool around the toes of his shoes before backing away.

As he moved, he couldn't take his eyes off Tony's flaccid, lifeless body. He had seen countless dead bodies; dead bodies of friends, but never a body of a friend whose life he had personally taken. He didn't know how to feel. Admiration or disgust with himself for being capable of killing someone he called a comrade… a pal… a drinking buddy.

A familiar cold sweat began to form on his brow. He had to get out of here. The metallic smell of Tony's blood was over powering. It was forcing Jack to remember too many horrific things. He felt his chest tighten as he struggled for air.

Ripping his gaze away, he stumbled over a pile of rope as he turned to leave.

"I did the hard part. You clean it up," he spat out as he passed Frankie.

Rain began to lightly fall as Jack stalked back to the car. Something in him blackened when he pulled the trigger and caused one of his closest friends to die. He grabbed the door handle and threw himself inside the vehicle. His hands shook wildly as he grabbed the steering wheel, trying to steady them. He looked up for a moment to see Frankie struggling to pull Tony's body towards the edge of the dock. He violently sucked in the air, which was so easily evading him…before he could stop it his mind was back in war…back to the day he lost so many friends.

* * *

><p>"So Napier…this enlistment is almost up. Is this it for you?" Gunnery Sergeant Hardy asked Jack from across the 7-ton.<p>

He faltered for a moment before answering. Not because he was unsure of the answer, but because he knew that saying it out loud meant no turning back.

"No sir Gunny," he answered enthusiastically. "This is just the beginning!"

He looked around himself, at his brothers-in-arms. They were packed together like sardines in a can. They all grimaced and complained with every bump and bounce the 7-ton rolled over, but behind their bravado, they were terrified. This was the first tour of duty for some; others the second or third. They were all just kids playing war though, most not even old enough to buy a drink.

There was Private First Class Spidolski, who just went by Spi. He was nineteen years old and fresh out of boot camp. He left his high school sweetheart at home in Ohio. He constantly bragged of his plans to marry her when he got home. Then there was Lance Corporal Prowdy, who was affectionately nicknamed Rowdy Prowdy. He married his girlfriend three days before he deployed, but was sent a Dear John letter just a few months later. There were countless others- names that Jack would someday forget, but faces that would be etched into his mind forever.

"Sergeant Napier…heard any good jokes lately?" Spi hopefully asked.

Jack had become known as the jokester of Alpha Company. His comrades anxiously awaited whatever new joke he had in store for them. His timing was impeccable. He always had something up his sleeve to lighten the mood when it was most needed.

A shallow grin began to form across Jack's lips. "No…no new jokes. But, I got a pretty funny story that happened to me just before we left." He placed his hands atop his knees and straightened his back as if he were about to pass along a life changing pearl of wisdom. "So I was in this morning briefing with a Colonel that had failed to get a good night of sleep. He explained to us that his wife was pretty frisky the night before and he posed the question if sex is more work or pleasure." As Jack spoke he looked into each of the faces of the ones surrounding him, as if to get their opinion. "The highest ranking Officer answered that it was 75%-25% in favor of work. Another said 50%-50%. The lowest ranking Officer responded 25%-75% in favor of pleasure…depending upon his state of inebriation at the time." Jack's grin began to widen as he approached his punch line. "Then the Colonel turned to me- the only enlisted guy there that morning. I answered without hesitation that it is 100% pleasure, because if any work were involved an Officer would have me fucking his wife for him…"

Loud laughter filled the space between each of the men. Momentarily they had forgotten where they were. The horrors that had already been seen and were undoubtedly yet to be seen were pushed aside by the power of laughter.

The smile began to fade from Jack's lips as the laughter began to fade. He clutched his rifle close to him. Sometimes the cold piece steel that he gripped so tightly, was like a security blanket for a child- always there; always a constant protection from the monster that lurked in the dark. He felt the weary of sleepless nights begin to overtake him and he slowly closed his eyes.

As Jack opened his eyes he realized that he was no longer sitting in the back of a 7-ton. He lay flat on his back; unable to move. At first everything was deathly quiet; nothing could be seen but a smoking, orange glow coming from what use to be their transportation.

One-by-one moans and cries for help began to fill the air. Jack forced his eyes to focus on a dark mound that lay a few feet away from him. As the dust settled he could make out a misshapen body, belonging to who he thought was Spi. He tried to drag himself closer to get a better look, but was paralyzed to where his body had fallen. He felt as though his entire right side had been minced to pieces. Nothing worked on that side. He couldn't even feel if the appendages were still attached.

Through the smoke he could see the shapes of men walking amongst the fallen. At first he felt intense relief that help had arrived. That was until the cries for help were systematically quieted by rifle fire. Jack wildly felt the ground around him for something to defend himself with. When he realized his efforts were in vain he had nothing left to do but hold his body still. Try to play dead.

He could hear muffled footsteps coming closer to him. His body screamed out in pain and he struggled not to draw attention to himself. He began to think for a moment as he lay there -without a bullet in his head- that he had fooled his enemies. As hopeless as the situation was, he felt an absurd smugness that was quickly slapped away by the cruel, cold barrel of a rifle smashing into his cheek.

* * *

><p>The sound of Frankie slamming the car door shut shook Jack back to reality.<p>

He fixed his gaze on Frankie, "Did you take care of it?" His voice was breathless and raw.

Frankie angrily stared ahead as the rain began to pound harder on the roof of the car. "Yeah, it's taken care of."

Jack nodded to himself. "This is why I like being the bitch that totes Sal around…"

* * *

><p>Months had passed since Jack had driven Sal to the Gotham Plaza Hotel. He had all, but forgotten the pretty girl that he had met there. The first buds of spring were beginning to bloom and nothing had changed in Jack's life other than the season. He still worked the same job and lived in the same rundown apartment. His limited spare time was only filled with cheap liquor and even cheaper women.<p>

Jack sighed as he found himself, yet again, unceremoniously left outside of a meeting that he had chauffeured his boss to. Although he would never dare express it to anyone, he often found himself frustrated that he was left out of the decision making process, since it was he and Frankie who enforced the decisions that were made. No matter how gruesome or unfair they may be, they were handed to Jack, who had no choice, but to follow them blindly.

As the sun began set, he watched the ash on the end of his cigarette grow longer. He checked his watch and grunted with annoyance as he realized he was going to be spending his entire evening standing outside an ostentatiously large mansion. He wondered about the people who lived inside of it. Who has this kind of money? He was certain that they warmed a church pew every time the doors were open, and called this garish manor a blessing from God, when it was really paid for in blood.

His attention was diverted from his loathing by the sound of a car speeding down the long driveway. Being unsure if it was friend or foe, he lightly placed his hand on the pistol that hung from his side, readying himself for anything. He slowly relaxed as the car came into better view. He could see that it was small, red, grossly expensive, and obviously not a threat. It screeched to a stop in front of the house, and much to his surprise a memory emerged from it.

As she stepped from the car he instantly recognized her as someone he should know, but he couldn't place how he knew her. She certainly wasn't someone he met at a bar. Maybe a girl that Frankie had tried to fix him up with...no, that wasn't it either. He attentively watched her as she straightened her short white and yellow dress and indifferently pushed her curly hair behind one ear. It wasn't until she strutted across the driveway to the front steps with the same arrogance that she had that night walking down a long corridor towards him in the Gotham Plaza Hotel that he realized exactly how he knew her.

She was as beautiful as the first time he had laid eyes. In fact, her effortless appearance made her all the more attractive. He expected her to recognize him, but as she bounced up the stairs past him, she didn't even notice. He felt as if he blended into the brick wall behind him.

"I never caught your name," he spoke quickly, trying to catch her attention before she went through the door.

She stopped for a moment to place his voice. She turned back slowly, slightly smiling with satisfaction as she recognized him. "I knew you couldn't stay away."

"You didn't even see me." He smiled through a hurt expression.

She looked down in embarrassment. "The business my Daddy is in leaves many men, such as yourself, on my doorstep."

He knocked the ashes from his cigarette. "I would imagine that there would be men on your doorstep, no matter what business your _daddy_ was in."

"Are you always this much of a charmer?" she asked, as she flirtatiously took the cigarette from his hand and slid it between her lips.

"N-not as often as I would like to be," he stammered. "You barely look old enough to smoke."

She took the cigarette out of her mouth and held it elegantly between her long fingers. "You'd be shocked by what I am old enough for."

He was taken aback by her confidence. Not, that he had never encountered a forward woman, but she was different. She wasn't looking for someone to spend the night with. She was toying with him, just to see how far she could push. Testing the waters.

She smiled at his discomfort. "Do you like my house? It's far too large for just three people. But, the ocean is just a short walk beyond that tree line. I'm growin' very fond of it. On windy days you can almost hear the waves crash onto the shore."

Her voice was memorizing. Almost musical. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He felt a sudden rush of panic. Here he was in front of the most gorgeous women he had ever seen with his mouth hanging open like an idiot. He fumbled and stuttered for a moment trying in vain to come up with a witty response. Desperately he blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind.

"Were you on a date?" His tone was humiliatingly territorial.

"No…no." She looked down at her feet. "I'm a dancer. I was at ballet practice."

Jack couldn't help, but laugh. "Isn't ballet for little girls?"

Her face reddened with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "Little girls grow up. Ballet is one of the main reasons that I didn't come to Gotham kickin' and screamin'." She pushed a few strands of hair away that had fallen into her face. "I will one day dance with the Gotham Ballet Company." She took a few steps towards the door as if she were going to leave him on the doorstep. "Oh, by the way…It's Jeanine."

"Excuse me?"

"You wanted to know my name. It's Jeanine Dupree." She timidly smiled. "But, please don't ever call me that…it's simply awful," she chuckled. "Jeannie isn't much better, but I prefer it."

"John Napier," Jack responded in kind. "But, Jack is better."

Jeannie took a few steps towards him. "So, 'John, but Jack is better, Napier', are we only goin' to meet when you are standin' outside of doors I am about to walk through? Exchange a few flirtatious pleasantries, and then be on our way? "

He smiled as if he were a little boy, about to steal his first kiss. "I hope not."

She leaned against the wall next to him. "Then take me out on a date. I am free tonight."

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet as he tried to find a polite way to tell her he was busy. "I wish I could, but I am working."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "He can't stay here forever. He has to leave eventually." She moved close enough to him that he could feel the warmth of her breath. "After you drop him off, come back here for me."

"No… I …I." He stumbled over his words, trying to keep the darker aspects of his career a secret. "I always have to work after these kinds of meetings."

Her shoulders slumped as she backed away from him. "What a pity."

"Maybe tomorrow night? I have nothing to do then," he asked eagerly.

"Tomorrow night isn't good for me." She shrugged. "I have another date."

"You juggle men?" His tone was low and accusatory.

Her brow furrowed as she placed her hands against her hips. "No, I don't. But, I was goin' to make an exception for you. Give you a chance."

"Don't bother…I don't need your charity," he scoffed.

"From what I gather, you have an old man in your backseat more than any woman. Someone needs to offer you some charity," she hissed

Jack mumbled beneath his breath as he took another cigarette from his pocket. "So who is the lucky guy?"

A conceited smile crossed her face. "Bruce Wayne. Surely you have you heard of him?"

"Goddamn," Jack spat out with a chuckle. He suddenly felt rather foolish for flirting with this privileged ballerina that lived in a mansion by the sea. "When you become another notch in the boy billionaire's bedpost, let me know. Maybe you will need some charity of your own," he jeered. "I won't be hard to find. I am sure I will be standing on your doorstep again someday."

Jeannie let the remnants of the cigarette she held in her hand drop to the ground as she reached for the front door. "It was very nice to have met you Mr. Napier." She didn't wait for him to answer her as she pulled the door open and quickly left him to himself.

Jack felt as if he were a balloon that had been deflated. That girl was incredulous. Absolutely maddening. He peered through the decorative glass door in time to watch her trot up a large staircase and out of his view.

"And you as well Jeanine."


	4. Chapter 3

**Thanks to all of those who have read and reviewed so far! Reviews are always appreciated and motivational! Please enjoy my next chapter and tell me what you think! **

**Rex- Sorry I can't PM you; since you are anonymous I can only communicate with you this way! Thank you for always reviewing; it means a lot! Jeanine/Jeannie is not an original character, but my version of her is. Not much is known about her in the comics (other than the Joker has memories of her being his wife). She is simply a memory, so I am trying to take advantage of her fluidity! Thanks again!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>What a big heart I have-the better to love you with.<br>Little Red Riding Hood  
>Even bad wolves can be good.<br>I'll try to be satisfied just to walk close by your side.  
>Maybe you'll see things my way before we get to grandma's place.<strong>_

**_Little Red Riding Hood_**  
><strong><em>You sure are looking good<em>**  
><strong><em>You're everything that a big bad wolf could want<em>**

_**-Lil Red Riding Hood, Amanda Seyfried cover**_

**Chapter 3-**

"Daddy…Daddy….Wake up!"

A small voice coupled with hard tugs on his sleeve began to rouse Jack from his sleep. He struggled to open his eyes that felt as though they had been glued together. As they finally popped open, he was greeted by the face of his oldest daughter standing over him.

"Why are you awake?" He sat up as he read the clock hanging from the wall through blurry eyes. "It's two in the morning, Heather. Go back to bed."

"I was thirsty," she whined. "When I came downstairs you were talking in your sleep and it scared me."

"I was just having a dream," Jack whispered, as he inspected his bandaged hand. Blood had begun to seep through and it was almost immobile from pain.

"About what?" She leaned against her father's knee.

He brushed the hair from her small face with a gentle touch. "About when I met mommy."

"Happy dreams," she exclaimed in all of her childish innocence.

Jack's eyes widened and his lips curled into a small, tight grin. "Happy dreams." He stood, taking her hand. "I am going to get you a glass of water, then you're going back to bed."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and hung from his side. "No…read me a story first."

"Heather I..." Jack stopped mid-sentence. He always made excuses when it came to doing things with his children. He had no excuse this time. "One story, but then you go to bed."

Heather smiled brightly as she released her father from her grip.

"Go up to your bedroom and I will be there in a minute… but be quiet, the last thing I need is you waking up your brother or sister," he warned, trying not to imagine the rage that would surely ensue from his wife if all three children were awake.

Heather was his favorite child. He loved them all, but she had a certain spark. The rest of his children looked like him, but she, aside from dark hair, was a replica of her mother. She loved ballet and carried herself like a dancer; like Jeannie. At times her voice would slip into a southern drawl, almost as if she were trying it on for size. She refused to eat anything that had once been alive and hated frogs. She would dramatically gasp if she scuffed her shoes and she loved to play in Jeannie's makeup. Also like her mother… she had Jack's heart from the beginning.

Jack walked into the kitchen as Heather tip-toed up the stairs. He leaned against the sink, gently unwrapping the bandages from his hand. It had turned black and blue throughout the night, and the gashes across his knuckles were deep and throbbed with each beat of his heart.

"What was I thinking?" Jack questioned to himself as he ran cold water over his wound.

His home felt dead as he walked down the hallway to the stairs. Everything in it seemed cold and rigid. It's very core had become hostile. He listened to the creaking of the hard, wooden floors beneath his feet. Each sound seemed to be taunting him. Reminding that his absence was inexcusable.

He ascended the stairs, carefully placing each step so not to wake his wife and children. Heather's room was at the end of the hall, farthest from his and Jeannie's. As he passed each of his children's rooms, he paused for a moment to look in. As he watched them sleep he realized that he didn't know them. His son, Sullivan, idolized him, but Jack couldn't recall the last time they had played catch. His youngest daughter Maggie had just turned thirteen months old. Jack had only seen her walk a few times. He didn't know what new words she was saying. What her favorite toy was. He was too drunk the day of her birthday party to even participate. The images of his sleeping children that should have brought him peace only caused him pain and remorse. He vowed that things would be different from now on. That the child that Jeannie was carrying now, would not know the disappointment that the rest of his children had lived though.

"What book did you choose?" Jack asked as he entered Heather's dimly lit room.

"The House That Jack Built," Heather held the book tightly against her chest.

"The House That Jack Built huh?" He sat down on the bed next to her. "Excellent choice. I like that Jack guy. He has a good name."

Heather smiled as she leaned into her father. She laid her head against his chest and took in every moment with him. Watching her parents fight completely unnerved her. She took comfort in his warm embrace as she listened to his heartbeat. In her short life she had witnessed too many arguments. Too many heartbreaking circumstances that would follow her forever.

Jack opened the book to the first page. "This is Jack." He stopped for a moment, allowing Heather time to look at the pictures. "Jack carried lumber from the mill, to build his house on top of the hill." As he read to her, the guilt of his absence churned in his gut. He lingered on each page, slowly emphasizing each word. Finally he came to the last rhyming page. "This is the house that Jack built on a hill, and if he's not gone, he lives there still."

He closed the book and placed it on her nightstand. "You ready to go to sleep?"

A mischievous smile appeared on her face, as she desperately tried to hide her heavy eyes. "No not yet," She tightened her hold on him, so not to risk him getting away. "How did you meet mommy?"

"I met her at a party. She was the prettiest girl there." He smiled down at his daughter. "You look just like her."

"Did you fall in love with her at the party?" she asked, as she began to lose her battle with sleep.

Jack sighed. "Yes, I did. But, she didn't."

"When did she fall in love with you?"

Jack honestly tried to remember, more for his own curiosity than hers. "I don't really know. The man I worked for thought that she needed someone to take care of her…sometime after that I suppose."

"Do you love her now?"

Jack hesitated for a beat. "I do…very much. And I love you, and Sullivan, and little Maggie."

The urge to fall asleep finally overcame her. "I love you too, daddy," she mumbled as she drifted off to sleep.

Jack held his daughter to him for several minutes. He looked around her pink, flowered room. Her shelves were lined with dolls and plastic ponies. Stuffed animals and toy clowns were scattered about the floor and fanciful drawings covered the walls. She had everything a little girl could possibly want. He thought he was doing a good job. He gave his family everything…everything, but him

He gently tucked her into her pink and purple, flowered sheets. He kissed her forehead and watched her sleep for a moment before leaving. She was so precious. All of his children were. And he was missing it. The gravity of it all had never hit him before. Things between he and Jeannie had become so turbid that he had allowed it to push him away from everything. His home, his children... absolutely everything.

He had a sudden surge of anger towards his wife. He wanted to confront her. To finally stand his ground. Part of him even regretted not connecting his fist with its original intended destination. He wanted to slough off any personal responsibility he had in the situation. Make it all her sole fault and charge. Make it easier for him to sleep at night.

He stood outside Heather's door for several minutes staring down the hallway at his own. As he began to approach it, he weighed the benefits of trying to go in. He laggard outside the door. What's the worst that could happen? Him kill her in a fit of rage? No...no...he may have been angry. He might even have fantasized of it, but he would never truly hurt her.

He looked over the second floor banister, into their den. He didn't want to spend the rest of the night on that couch. Rage began to boil in his stomach. What kind of man was he? He let her dictate the tone of the house based upon her moods.

"I pay for this house…" He began to pep talk himself. "…I pay for that bed…and I pay for the expensive sheets she wraps her spoiled ass up in every night."

He forcefully grabbed the doorknob, pushing with all of his strength, but was rudely met with the knowledge that he had been locked out. He sulked outside for some time trying to decide on the best course of action. He seriously thought of breaking it down and tried to weigh the pros and cons. He disappointingly realized that there were no pros to be found, but plenty of cons. While kicking in the door would have nursed his wounded ego, he would undoubtedly wake all of his children, insight an argument that would last for days, and have a broken door to replace. Sometimes you have to pick your battles and this was one not worth the piss and vinegar it would stir up.

"Jeannie, I always knew that you would either kill me or drive me crazy," he spoke to the door.

Once again he peeked over the banister to the couch that seemed to be mocking him from below. _You're going to be snuggled up to me instead of your wife for a shit ton of time._

He rolled his eyes as he slumped away in defeat. "It's off to the couch I go…hi ho…hi ho…"

He flipped his wedding band with his thumb, making it spin around his finger. He laid on his back staring at the ceiling. He knew that he should have never gotten married, at least not when he did. Or maybe better to say, to who he did. His high school girlfriend, Marybeth, was wildly different than Jeannie. She was not temperamental or overindulged. Her heart was truly golden and she desperately loved him, despite his apathy towards her. Jeannie though, was like a flame and Jack a moth. He couldn't help himself. No matter the risk of getting burned, he just had to get closer.

* * *

><p>"What is her name?" Frankie asked as he propped his feet up on the chair in front of him.<p>

Jack attentively watched the stage ahead. "Jeanine Dupree, but she goes by Jeannie… Her father is that man from Louisiana that Sal does business with."

Jack and Frankie sat at the back of a large theater that Jeannie's ballet company was rehearsing in. Jack felt as if he were swallowed up by the entire experience. The building was vast, with high ceilings and dark, shadowy spaces. The music that was being played from a piano off stage was ominous and seemed to highlight the malicious appearing carvings that adorned the walls. As he watched her dance he felt as if all things great and all things wicked had originated from that spot.

"Not a bad gig, huh?" Frankie too had become fixated while watching her dance. "How did you draw the lucky straw?"

Jack laughed. "I don't know if I would call it lucky. She thinks her family moved here for business." Jack glanced towards Frankie. "But her dear ol' daddy got into some messy deals in New Orleans and found himself on the wrong end of a gun. They ended up here because Gotham is full of people willing to protect you for the right price." He looked back to the stage. "Someone found out where they are and she needs protection." Jack chuckled under his breath. "She thinks her father hired me to make her life easier. She has no idea what evil things are waiting for her."

"No one ever does," Frankie sighed as he thought back to the night that they'd killed Tony.

"So now you get to be the one worrying about Sal." Jack smiled. "And I get to worry about a spoiled little brat."

Frankie raised his eyebrows. "I will gladly trade you. Bitchy heiress is just my type."

Jack's shoulders slumped in exasperation. "She is such a pain in the ass. She is a shining example of all that glitters is not gold." He shook his head in disbelief and repugnance with himself. "When I first saw her, I thought she must have been a fallen angel, but now I see that she is the devil in heels."

Frankie chuckled.

"A friend of hers asked her to be a bridesmaid, and apparently the dress color that was picked is an indication that there is no God." His eyes narrowed as he imagined her complaining, grating voice that he heard far too often. "You know she doesn't eat meat because she thinks it's unhealthy, but yet she smokes."

"Ya can't trust someone that doesn't eat meat," Frankie joked.

"She's going to be the end of me," Jack grumbled.

Frankie cut a sharp glance towards his friend. "Usually the people that get under our skin the most are the ones we care the most for."

Jack's face twisted in defiance. "What after school special did you fall out of?!"

"Only making an observation." Frankie held his hands up in defense. "You just know a lot about her; maybe you're a little too close."

"No…no, no, no." Jack laughed off Frankie's suspicions. "Unlike you, bitchy heiress isn't my type. Plus, she has been dating Bruce Wayne for the past two months." He looked away in thought. "There is no competing with that."

Frankie didn't know quite how to respond. He could tell that Jack was smitten, and this type of girl was probably well aware of that.

"Why are we sitting way back here? We could get a better view of hot girls in tights from up front."

Jack rolled his eyes. "I can see the entire theater from back here. I know no one is lurking around waiting for her."

"Yeah and you can't see the male dancers putting their hands on places of her body that you have only dreamt of." Frankie smirked

Jack squirmed in his seat. He couldn't admit it, but Frankie was exactly right. He couldn't stomach seeing another man touch her. He sat far enough away that she was simply an ambiguous silhouette.

"She is out of our league Frankie…I guess we are stuck with old Mary Jane Rottencrotch, that crawls out of a gutter," he joked to hide the obvious sore spot that Frankie touched upon.

Frankie grinned to himself. "I guess so." He kept a careful eye on his friend, then mercifully changed the subject. "Have ya heard about that gang?" He snapped his fingers trying to recall the name. "The Red Hood gang?"

Jack looked over his shoulders to make sure that there was no chance of them being heard. "Yeah…why?"

"I heard that it's a different guy every night under that mask." He leaned in close to Jack. "It's a fast way to make good cash. I'm thinking of doing it."

Jack stared slack jawed in shock at his friend's stupidity. "You were the one just a few weeks ago shitting your pants about getting bumped off."

"I have kids, Jack. They have had it rough since me and Lucy split." Frankie tried to rationalize his idea.

"They will have it a lot harder if you are dead," Jack retorted through gritted teeth. "It's stupid and reckless."

"You're one to talk," Frankie argued. "At least I ain't having wet dreams over getting in some prissy bitch's pretty, pink panties. If ya get too close, then you will be just as dead."

"I'm not…" Jack stopped. "She isn't any of your goddamn business."

"And what I do is none of yours," Frankie started.

"Yes, it is!" Jack interrupted. "If Sal finds out you are working for someone else, you are dead…and who do you think will be the one pulling that trigger?"

Frankie defiantly shook his head.

"I have done it before, Frankie," Jack's tone was deathly serious. "You were there. You saw it."

Frankie sat forward in his chair. "Yeah, but ya like me better than ya did Tony," He tried to lighten Jack's mood.

"Like shit I do," Jack spat out. "You irritate the piss out of me…I won't hesitate."

They sat in silence for several minutes. The Red Hood gang was making quite a name for themselves throughout Gotham. Jack would have been lying if he said that they didn't interest him. Sal paid well, but not like them. Pulling one job as the Red Hood could buy his way out of his slum apartment and possibly out of his life-threatening career. He enjoyed being alive too much though. The risks were simply too great.

"So… what does your night look like?" Frankie sheepishly glanced at Jack to gauge his mood.

"I'm taking her home, then I got a date," Jack spoke dryly, staring straight ahead.

"With Mary Jane Rottencrotch or your fantasies of the lovely Miss Dupree?" Frankie asked with a nudge of his elbow and a laugh.

Jack smiled widely. "That's for me to know."

Jack stood outside of Jeannie's dressing room waiting to take her home. The backstage was a blur of activity. He felt in the way and each unwelcoming glance in his direction didn't make him feel otherwise.

The door swung open and she bounced out of her dressing room, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. She glanced around quickly, then her expression fell as she saw Jack standing beside her door.

"Is Bruce here? He said he would stop by to see me." She hopefully took another look around the hallway.

Jack sighed, knowing what was to come. This wasn't the first time that Bruce Wayne had let her down. Many times he would promise to pick her up or meet her somewhere and never show. Bruce and Jeannie's relationship burned hot in the beginning, but was now slowly beginning to cool on his half. Whenever he would stand Jeannie up, Jack was left to pick up the pieces.

Every time.

"No…well….not now. He was here for a while to watch you, but had to leave," He lied. "He asked me to apologize for him."

Her disappointed expression softened somewhat. "Does he want me to call him?"

"Uhhh…yeah." Jack forced a fake smile. "Let's get you home."

Their ride to Jeannie's home was quiet. He watched her from the rear view mirror as she leaned against the door. She stared out the window into the black. Even in the darkness her form looked broken. Every headlight from the cars that passed would momentarily light her face and make the tears glisten from her cheeks. She knew he was not telling her the truth. She had been through it enough times before.

"You're home Jeannie," Jack mumbled as he put the car into park. "You want me to walk you to your door?"

She didn't budge, just continued to look out the window. "No… I want you to walk me down to the shore," Her voice sounded small and far away.

"I…I can't tonight." Jack answered.

She flippantly scowled as she cut her eyes to him. "You have a date?"

He smiled weakly. "Actually, yes."

"Hmmm." She looked back to the window. "Well, I won't keep you."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jeannie."

She hesitated before getting out of the car. "I am spendin' tomorrow with Bruce…you have the day off. Enjoy it."

He sadly smiled at her misguided hopefulness. "Well then, have a good night."

"Goodnight." She softly closed the door behind her.

He anxiously fidgeted with his keys as he watched her walk away, toward the small, wooded area that separated her home from the beach. He grappled back in forth between letting her go on her own or going with her. Why would he even want to spend time with her that wasn't on the clock? Sometimes just the sound of her voice would make his skin crawl. He slammed his head back against the head-rest in frustration with the decision he was about to make.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me! Goddamn woman," Jack grumbled in exasperation with himself as he turned the car off and shoved open the door.

"Jeannie, wait!" he shouted as he jogged to catch up with her. "I'll go with you."

She stopped and turned to wait for him. "I don't want you missin' your date." She tried to cover the satisfaction in her voice.

"I don't think it would have worked out anyway." He shrugged trying to seem indifferent. "You shouldn't be walking through the woods alone."

Jeannie twirled the end of her ponytail around her fingers. "I do it all the time. Just wanted some company tonight."

"Doesn't matter…I'll go with you." He cleared his throat. "Can never be too careful, y'know. Uh… let's go." He motioned towards the path that cut through the trees.

They strolled down the well-worn, sandy path to the beach. The only light came from the moon and the warm breeze blowing in from the ocean surrounded them. Jeannie's pace picked up as the sounds of the waves came closer. She was almost running as the sea came into view.

As they came out of the woods and onto the beach, Jeannie kicked off her shoes to better feel the sand sink beneath her feat. She loved the beach. Whatever worries that she may have, would instantly melt away. She always felt new and restored after visiting the sea. She bounded towards the water, running in as deep as her knees. She laughed and twirled as the waves crashed onto her legs, dampening the hem of her white, cotton dress.

He leaned against an old dock that was rotting away as he watched her. He was in awe of the ballerina dancing in the sand in front of him. From this view, she seemed like an entirely different person. It made him forget any negative feelings he held for her. She was breathtaking. He watched her pretense melt away as if she were the only one there. She seemingly didn't have a care in the world.

She turned back to him and began in his direction. She was well aware that he had lied to her about Bruce, to save her feelings. It was endearing and softening. He suddenly looked different to her. No longer a young man that was fodder for her manipulations, but someone that she would like to know better. Someone that was worth having around.

"Why are you here, Jack?" She kicked at the sea foam that lay upon the shore. "You have a girl somewhere waitin' for you."

Jack looked out over the water as he tried to search for an answer. "I don't know. I truly don't have an answer for you."

She smiled sweetly. "Thank you." She took a step closer to him. "Thank you for comin' here with me… thank you for tryin' to make things better." She looked away to hide the hurt on her face. "I know you were lyin' to me…I know Bruce was never there."

"I'm sorry." His words were sincere.

The two found themselves sitting in the sand next to each other. No words were exchanged at first. Any contempt held for the other melted away. But, inexplicably, now that they had seen each other in a different light, they were incredibly uncomfortable. Almost as if they were just meeting.

"I heard daddy say that you were once in the military." Jeannie was the first to break the silence.

Jack slowly nodded. "Yep…six years in the Marine Corps."

"Wow, the Marine Corps!" She was impressed.

"The world's best fighting men… a few good men…the few; the proud….ooorahh!" He cynically repeated Marine Corps slogans. "That was an entirely different life."

"Why did you enlist?" She questioned.

He smiled, puzzled by the question himself. "I took a left, when I should have taken a right on my way to college."

She laughed. "Did you go to war?"

Jack's lips pulled into a tight line. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't know you well enough to talk with you about that. I don't think I will know anyone well enough to talk to them about that."

"Fair enough." She changed the subject. "Are you from Gotham?"

He shook his head to the contrary. "No, I am a transplant."

"How did you end up here?"

"I don't know." His brow furrowed. "My destiny just seems to be here…it fits."

She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her head upon her knees. "Where are you from?"

"Pittsburgh... well a town outside of Pittsburgh." He stopped for a moment. "The suburbs."

"You don't seem like you are the type to come out of Suburbia," she jested.

A large smile crossed his face. "Awe, but I do."

"Does your family still live there?"

Jack bit his lower lip as he contemplated if he wanted to answer. "No…well…not really. My aunt does, but my sister lives in North Carolina. She writes me letters about watching wild horses from her front porch."

She picked up on his hesitance, but chose to push him further. "What about your parents?"

He shook his head as he stared over the ocean. Jack was not the type to lament about his past to other people, especially one whom he doubted had experienced any tragedy past having a disinterested boyfriend or broken nail.

He looked at her quickly then back to the sea. He noticed that her expression was one of genuine interest. He squirmed at the thoughts of traveling down that road, but he could stop himself. Despite his best efforts, he gritted his teeth and exhaled, as he relented.

"No." He spoke matter-of-factly. "My mother died of ovarian cancer when I was thirteen and I have no idea where my father is."

"He wasn't around while you were growin' up?" Jeannie continued to pry.

Jack sighed in frustration with the uncomfortable direction of their conversation. "He was until my mother died." His expression changed into one of a little boy who was confused with life's twists and turns. "Then he became a miserable, abusive drunk, who dropped me and my sister off at our Aunt Helen's house and never came back for us."

Jeannie remained silent and chewed on her bottom lip. She felt somewhat guilty for pushing him back into the dark recesses of his life.

"My Aunt once heard a couple of rumors about what happened to him." He slightly smiled. "Once she heard that he moved to California and started a new family." A cynical chuckle escaped him. "Then she heard that he passed out on a train track and was run over." He shifted his gaze to Jeannie's dismayed expression. "I tend to believe and hope for the latter of the two."

She sat quietly for a moment then suddenly a small giggle bubbled inside her. She held it back as best she could, but soon she couldn't stop it from escaping her lips. She was horrified with her lack of control, but couldn't stop the growing laughs. Hot tears began to spill over her eyelids as she covered her mouth trying to stifle her unfitting response.

"I'm so, so sorry." She gasped for air. "Sometimes I have really inappropriate reactions to horrible things."

He couldn't help but to join her laughter. "It's fine…it really is funny. It's so pathetic that it's funny."

She continued to laugh. "You want to know somethin' pathetically funny about my life?"

"Let me hear it." He chuckled.

"Have you ever wondered why your boss comes here so often?" Her stomach muscles began to hurt. "Not because he has such important business with my daddy, but because once their meetin's are finished, he has a meetin' with my momma, if you know what I mean."

Jack stopped laughing and hesitantly glanced at her. He realized that the sweet southern accent that rolled so smoothly off Jeannie's tongue veiled many demons.

"It's been goin' on for quite a while." Sadness washed over her face. "She has always only cared about his money and how much of it she gets to spend." She swallowed back the painful lump that had formed in her throat. "Maybe Bruce thinks I am like that too…maybe that is why he doesn't care about me."

Jack stayed silent, but reached around her to place a gentle hand upon her shoulder. She leaned against him, letting him hold her closely. There was nothing flirtatious or intimate about their gesture. Simply reassuring one another that they were not alone. The two sat on the beach for several more hours. Nothing more deep or personal was revealed between the two. Just small talk. A true friendship began to blossom between the two. Both, at the time, were lost souls who benefited from the mere company of another person and an understanding embrace.


	5. Chapter 4

**Thanks to all who have taken the time read my story thus far. Please enjoy! I hope you all have a Merry Christmahanakwanzika and a happy New Year!**

**Rex- If you're still with me, thanks again for always reading and reviewing. Last time you reviewed, you asked what my Joker would be like once he changed. I unfortunately can't say too much about that, because it will reveal too much about my ending. But, without giving too much detail, the Joker you see in The Killing Joke is the Joker that Jack will become- just remembering his past differently. I get the Jack Napier persona from "Batman: Mask of Phantasm", which in my opinion is one of the better Batman movies. There is a scene in that movie in which Bruce Wayne and Jack catch a glimpse of each other when Bruce drops off his girlfriend (Andrea Beaumont) and there is an obvious dislike between them. That is the reason why I have briefly put Jeannie and Bruce in a relationship. I want the dislike between Bruce and Jack to be more than just over Jack making a cat-call at Bruce's girlfriend. I want it to be deeper and that will come to fruition as the story progresses. I hope that explains somewhat. Thanks again!**

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_**Well, I wish I was in New Orleans, I can see it in my dreams,  
>Arm-in-arm down Burgundy, a bottle and my friends and me<strong>_

_**Hoist up a few tall cool ones, play some pool and listen  
>To that tenor saxophone calling me home<br>And I can hear the band begin "When the Saints Go Marching In",  
>New Orleans, I'll be there."<strong>_

_**~I Wish I Was In New Orleans, Scarlett Johansson cover**_

**Chapter 4-**

She crossed her arms tightly across her chest as she paced back and forth across the large covered porch on the rear of her family's home. It was a perfect morning. The blistering heat was being held at bay by a light covering of fog and a cool breeze that slid effortlessly across the skin. The morning dew had not yet dried and the air smelled uncharacteristically clean.

Even with the peaceful surroundings, Jeannie felt as if she were exploding with nerves. In just a few hours the moment that she had been waiting on for months would be upon her. The moment that she had practiced for, prayed about, cried over, and dreamt of since she had moved to Gotham. The dancers had been told to rest and conserve their energy, but that was far easier said than done. There was no possible way to relax when there was so much at stake.

She intently watched her feet as she walked, hoping that tonight they wouldn't forget a step. She stood for a moment and looked into the woods behind her house. When she first moved to Gotham her bouts with homesickness were few and far between, but now they had become more and more frequent. Maybe it was the stress from her upcoming performance or the realization that the only real friends that she had made since moving to the city were two men. One paid to be around her, and the other who was increasingly ambivalent of her presence.

Her family thought her naïve. They thought that she truly believed that their reasons for moving to Gotham were for business and that Jack was only hired to make her life more convenient. But, Jeannie was much more aware of the situation than she was given credit for. She knew that the only business that brought them to Gotham was her father's bad business in New Orleans, and that the only reason that she knew Jack Napier's name was because her father hired him to keep someone from putting a bullet in her head…before someone hired Jack to be the one placing the bullet.

She often wondered if Jack would have stayed around if he was not paid to do so, and she was certain that he probably wondered the same. He had seen her at her best and her worst, but he stood fast through it all. She genuinely liked him. She found him funny and unbelievably normal. While his normalcy might have been boring to many, she found it simply refreshing. Jeannie had her fill of insanity for one life time. She could tell that there were scars than ran deep, but he was no more damaged than any other person. To her, he was…_the sanest man alive._

A small smile appeared on her face as she imagined Jack. He would be there tonight. There was no way he would miss opening night. She couldn't say the same for Bruce, but she knew that she would have at least one supporter in the crowd. A supporter that she could count on.

She exhaled hard, trying to expel out as much of the anxiety that had set up residence inside of her as she could. She closed her eyes and slightly bounced up and down on her toes, then began to slowly move through her dance steps. She had to be perfect. This would be the largest audience she had ever performed in front of. Good reviews and word of mouth would surely give her a smoother path towards an audition with the Gotham Ballet.

Practicing her steps on her back porch was something Jeannie had been doing since she was a child. Something of a tradition or good luck ritual started when she was performing in recitals for Madam Nobody's School of Dance and wearing homemade, pastel tutus. This time was different though. Everything was different. The texture of the air, the smell, the sounds, the feel of the floor against her bare feet. It all felt almost wrong; as if she were betraying everything she had left behind.

A sudden pang of longing ripped through her. As she moved, she could imagine herself back in the French Quarter with her friends. She could see the wrought- iron balconies that over flowed with ivy and hanging baskets of jasmine. She could hear the brass band music from bars and the merriment of the streets crowded with lovers, tourists, and fun seekers.

Her heart ached as she remembered her friends. Never again would she find companions like those of the past. They were loyal and colorful. Almost annoying with personality. They understood and accepted her for what and who she was. Never was she met with a cynical smirk as a homespun southern colloquialism slipped from her lips or an amused expression when she called her parents, "momma and daddy."

The transition into a new dance company had not been an easy one. She felt absolutely no comradery with her fellow dancers. They were all- herself included- overly competitive with each other; feeling only jealousy and contempt over one another's successes. The dancers in her company in New Orleans congratulated and supported each other. Whatever envy that might have been there was masked with a bright smile and a sticky sweet, "I'm so happy for you."

Even the new house that she had come to call home seemed wrong. Her mother was so excited when her father decided to build, rather than buy in Gotham. Jeannie's mother painstakingly crafted each corner of her house to fit an unreasonable set of standards. It wasn't allowed to take shape and form a personality. It was new and modern to keep up with the urbanized appearance, yet was set away from the city for privacy. The floors were marble and walls painted a cold shade of steel. It was flawless; exactly how her mother designed it. It had to be perfect. Anything less was unacceptable. In a way Jeannie felt that she and the house were very much the same. Forced to be what her mother wanted. Anything unique or distinctive was stripped away and replaced with gray.

Her home in Louisiana had the character and soul that only homes with age could boast. It was a beautiful, historic double-gallery mansion in New Orleans' well known Garden District. Its floors were well-worn wood that made coming home past curfew out of the question. The sounds of the surrounding city were everywhere. The clanking of the St. Charles street-car served as a way to keep the time and the hum of cicadas were constant back ground noise. Everything was an inspiration.

She felt the hard ball of nerves in her stomach begin to soften and her movements become effortless as she remembered the past. Maybe tonight she would find the same solace. Just as her entire body became peaceful, she was startled into stillness by the loud crash of the back door opening and slamming shut.

"Well aren't you the early bird this mornin'." Jeannie's mother stepped beside her. "I thought you would be sleepin' in."

Jeannie shook her head to the contrary. "No, I can't sleep… I'm too anxious."

"I was never fretful, before I performed." Her mother's chin rose with pride.

"No, I'm sure you weren't." Jeannie rolled her eyes as she turned towards her mother. "You probably never had to rehearse either."

Adele Dupree could have sent shivers down the spine of the devil. She was a cold, spiteful woman who had only married her husband for his money. When she was young she had also been a dancer. She was nowhere near as talented as her only child, but she tried desperately to convince herself otherwise. She gave up dancing when she became pregnant with Jeannie and resented her ever since. She was only a mother in the sense that she carried a child in her womb. Jeannie often commented that she knew what it was like to be the child of a snake. Adele and Jeannie looked very much alike. They shared the same willowy figure and sharp features, that were set off by their pale blonde hair. Jeannie would stare at the pensive lines across her mother's forehead and pray that she never turned into her. If she were ever a mother, she would be different.

"Dear, had you not come along I would have been a great dancer," Adele retorted as she took a step away from Jeannie. "I would have been the one dancin' in Gotham."

Jeannie's shoulders dropped and she held her forehead as she recognized the all too familiar mood that her mother was in.

"Well you're not." She crossed her arms tightly across her chest as her voice slightly cracked. "I can't do this today Momma. I can't handle this worn out, Scarlett O'Hara routine you do to bring attention to yourself every time somethin' good is happenin' in my life." Jeannie's eyes pleaded. "I can't have anythin' break my concentration or upsettin' me today. This is my chance."

"Your CHANCE?" Adele's voice became shrill as she placed her hand upon her chest. "Every chance you have ever had has been because of me. You're so ungrateful Jeannie Lynn." She scowled at her daughter's true accusations. "But, if it makes you feel any better I won't be there tonight."

"There's a surprise," Jeannie scoffed, as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

"You're daddy probably won't be either… he has been so sickly lately that I fear he may die soon," Adele casually spoke as if she were talking about the weather. "How about Bruce? Will he be there?"

Jeannie looked away to hide the sore spot that her mother had tripped upon.

"Yes," She lied. "Yes, he promised he would be there."

Her mother picked up on the hopelessness in her voice. "Really? Well, when I was out last night…."

"Out last night with Sal Valestra?" Jeannie interrupted.

Adele smiled. "It doesn't matter who I was with. What matters is that I saw Bruce." She took a deep preparatory breath. "And he was with a beautiful, young girl with red hair."

Jeannie's heart sank as she looked back to her mother.

"Oh, what is her name? I have seen her before," Adele looked at the ground as if she were truly tying to recall. "Oh yes…Andrea Beaumont. Lovely girl. He seemed very fond of her."

Jeannie's stomach flipped as she took in her mother's words. She knew Andrea Beaumont and she knew Bruce's affection of her all too well.

"That isn't true. He loves me! He has told me so, many times." She grasped at anything to make her mother's innuendo untrue. "You're just lyin' to upset me."

Adele walked towards her daughter and gently brushed Jeannie's hair behind her ear. "Oh honey, I wouldn't lie to you about somethin' like that."

Jeannie recoiled from her mother's touch. "You're just jealous." She stood straight and wiped her eyes dry. "You can't stand that I am better than you. That I didn't grow up white trash, with only the hope of a rich man takin' notice of me so I don't have to live my life in a swamp. It drives you insane that I _won't_ become some useless, bitter housewife like you."

Adele covered her mouth as she began to laugh. "If that helps you sleep at night, then you keep thinkin' that. But, sweetie we all get humbled someday." She stood still for a moment admiring her daughter's tattered expression. "If I were you though, I would worry less about my pirouettes and more about keeping my billionaire beau."

And with her last words, Adele pivoted on her heels, leaving Jeannie alone.

As the slam of the back door closing filled Jeannie's ears she felt nausea begin to bubble in her stomach. Her mother was a liar. Many times before she had lied to twist and manipulate her daughter. Although, Jeannie was sadly certain that this was not one of those occasions, she had to tell herself that it was. Too much was on the line to let anything disrupt her.

And no matter what, Jack would be there...

She cleared her throat and closed her eyes. She had to put it away for the time being. This was not the time to be worn down. She kept her eyes closed as tightly as she could to hold back her tears.

And slowly she began to dance.

* * *

><p>Jack pulled on the knot of his tie as he walked behind Frankie into the bar. He had been here countless times before, but this visit was different. Usually when Jack visited this hole-in-the-wall beer joint it was merely for pleasure. Pleasures of all types. It was called The Bowery Tavern, and named for the neighborhood it stood within. Jack resided one block away. Perfect walking or stumbling distance... depending on which direction he was traveling. He normally reveled in his visits to The Bowery Tavern, but after this social call, he feared that he would forever lose his taste for it.<p>

"I can't believe I am doing this… I _can't_ believe I am doing this." He felt as if he were being smothered by his suit jacket.

"Stop worrying, so much," Frankie mumbled. "Sal will never know you were here."

"I just want to get this over with and get the hell out of here. And you're wrong; he's going to find out." Jack clenched his jaw as his eyes darted around the bar, looking for any possible way that Sal Valestra could have somehow discovered what he was about to do.

"The guy isn't omniscient… he will never know. Stop being such a pussy." Frankie stopped at the bar and leaned back against it. "We just need to sit here, relax, and wait for them."

Jack took his place on a bar stool next to Frankie. "I can't be here long anyway. I promised Jeannie I would be at her ballet performance tonight. It's opening night."

Frankie's brow furrowed as he cut his glance to his friend. "Yeah…well after we are done here I will help ya pick out a purse to match your shoes."

"Just shut the fuck up." Jack was not in the mood to be made a joke of.

The sound of the heavy, wooden door opening and the glaring, beam of light from the outside made Jack look up. A tall, slender man, who reminded him of a rat walked through the door, followed by a short, portly man with a bulbous nose. Jack's heart sank as he recognized them. He had heard the descriptions of the recruiters for the Red Hood gang before, and he was certain that they had just appeared before him.

"I-I think that's them." Frankie's voice suddenly became shaky.

Jack stood as he watched them sit at a table at the back of the bar. "It's them."

"W-well… let's go then." Frankie took a couple of quick looks toward Jack to reassure himself.

Jack returned Frankie's glance, then rolled his eyes. "I _CAN NOT _believe I am doing this," he growled through gritted teeth as he took a step forward.

The closer Jack came to the two men, the taller he walked. He pulled his shoulders back and stuck out his chest. He locked eyes with the taller of the two men and struggled to keep a stoic expression on his face. He figured phony bravado was better than none at all.

"You the guys?" The vermin like man asked, looking past Jack.

Jack looked over his shoulder to Frankie who stood a stride behind. "Yeah we're the guys. I'm a…a…" He paused. "I'm Joe." His father's name was the first thing he blurted out. "And this is…umm." Jack pulled up the name of their ill-fated partner that they had killed, as he reached back and pulled Frankie forward. "This is Tony. He is the one who is interested in working with you….you got names?"

"No," the shorter man replied dryly. "Why don't you sit?"

Frankie was the first to sit and the first to speak. "I need money." His voice was desperate as he put all of his cards out on the table. "I don't get paid enough, and I got kids."

Jack jabbed a well-placed elbow into Frankie's side. Groveling was in no way part of the plan.

"Why don't we get straight to the point," the thinner man started. "It's a different guy under the mask every night." He looked back and forth between Frankie and Jack. "We will only agree to work with ya once, unless ya turn out to be good. Not fucking anything up, y'know?"

"I'll do it," Frankie quickly replied

Jack cringed as he heard Frankie's eagerness. There was no doubt in his mind that they both would be dead soon.

"We can always use extra hands, but you're not exactly the type to go under the hood," the portly man answered. "The hood is tall and skinny… like your friend her. He's a dead ringer." He looked to Jack. "I'll make ya a deal. We gotta job tonight. You's two can come along, but "_Joe" _wears the mask."

"Done," Frankie agreed without even giving Jack a thought.

"No!" Jack's hands balled into tight fists as he looked to Frankie. "I am here to help you make a decision and get the facts. I am NOT involved."

"We'll make it worth your while," the tall recruiter beckoned.

"I'm not fucking doing it." Jack began to stand.

Frankie reached out quickly; grabbing Jack's arm and pulling him back down. "Come on," he pleaded, "I need this money. My kids are starving."

"That isn't my problem," Jack coldly stared into Frankie's eyes.

"You're right it's not." Frankie felt as if tears were about to fall from his eyes. "But, we have worked together for so long, been through so much…we're friends."

"We're not friends," Jack spat out. "We kill people together…we're not friends."

Frankie sat back with Jack's last statement. "Okay…okay. We're not friends, but you're a man. A responsible one at that. One day you will have kids too. Maybe even with your ballerina." His words were earnest. "One day you'll feel this responsibility. You'll look at your children and realize you will do anything for them. Even die for them."

Jack was taken with Frankie's emotion. He hadn't had a good example of what a father should be, but he did have a good mother. A mother that would have done anything for her children. The fear in Frankie's eyes reminded him of the same fear he saw in his mother when it became evident that she was going to die. _What's going to happen to my kids…I have to make sure they are taken care of. _It hit him in that moment that Tony's execution had shaken Frankie to the core. He was aware that at any time in his career, he could be staring down the barrel of a gun and he had to make sure his children were well off to be without him.

Jack took the hat from his head and ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Fine."

Frankie exhaled with relief and closed his eyes. "Thank you Ja- a… Joe."

The two gang members stood at the same time.

"Gotham First Bank…Eleven tonight," the taller said under his breath as they left.

The two remaining men sat silently for a moment. Jack remembered back to when he first hired on with Sal Valestra. He remembered how he felt like he had sold his soul to the devil himself. After what he just agreed to, he realized that feeling was stupid and naïve. Today he sold his soul. Today he damned himself.

"L-look man, I can't thank ya enough. Y-ya don't know what it means to me." Frankie stumbled over his words.

Jack pressed his hands into the top of the table. A seething rage began to rise up inside of him. If Sal found out that he was working with another gang he was as good as dead. He was risking his life for this sniveling little piece of shit that knocked up some whore. He realized that the hypothetical children that Frankie had used to play off of his sympathies probably wouldn't ever exist now.

"I know you wanted to go watch Jeannie tonight." Frankie continued to eye Jack. "B-but, ya know your payday will be real good for this. Maybe after that Wayne prick dumps her, you will have enough money to catch her eye." Frankie nervously laughed as he futilely tried to smooth things out.

"I told you before and I will only say it one more time. Shut…the…fuck…up." Jack's voice was ragged with stress.

He worried that if he looked in Frankie's direction he would rip his head off. Maybe he would feel better if he did? But, as he thought about it, Frankie's words began to make sense. As much as he detested the thought of going through with this job, maybe there would be an upside. The earnings would be significantly more than what he was making with Valestra. Maybe this one opportunity was his ticket out. He could pay off Sal and possibly have a normal life.

Perhaps the Red Hood gang was the key to his future.


	6. Chapter 5

**Thanks to all of you who have read and reviewed! It's always appreciated and serves as great motivation.! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 5-**

* * *

><p>Where was all the noise? Where was all the activity?<p>

When Jack had entered the alley behind the Gotham First Bank, he had counted on the constant bombardment of distraction from the city. Usually there were hoards of people rushing here or there, and a perpetual roar from the crowds on the streets. But now, there was nothing. Not a single soul in sight. Not even a slamming taxi door to be heard. It was as though the city had paused to take a breath.

Jack looked down at his watch. It was a quarter 'til eleven. They would be here any minute.

Frankie was pacing back and forth between a doorway and a dumpster. It was completely unnerving. Like watching a pendulum swing. Jack felt that this must be what it's like for people in bad movies, who have an ax swinging above them. Watching their certain death coming closer. Waiting to be cut in half.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

He closed his eyes and imagined what Jeannie was doing at that moment. It was an hour and a half into the ballet. He had watched all of her rehearsals and knew her every step by heart. He hadn't bothered to tell her he wouldn't be there- there was no point in upsetting her. Robberies were not lengthy affairs, so he was confident he could make it in time to greet her outside her dressing room. He would tell her how wonderful she was. That she was perfect. He was sure that she would be all of those things. She would never know if he were there or not.

If Bruce had managed to show up, it wouldn't matter anyway. Jack would be forgotten and tossed aside. It didn't matter what he put himself through for her. How much he did for her. If Bruce decided he wanted her attention, then Jack was an afterthought.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

It was so unfair. If Bruce wasn't around- which was most of the time- they would appear as a couple, to anyone who didn't know otherwise. They were together every day. They laughed and joked. Genuinely enjoyed everything about one another.

He smiled to himself as he imagined when he had taken her to the Gotham County Fair a few weeks prior. Bruce was supposed to take her, but reneged at the last minute. It was so much fun. They rode the unsteady fair rides and he had poured out almost a week's worth of pay to win her a shitty pink stuffed dog.

But the best part, the most memorable part was when she almost kissed him. Or at least he told himself that she had almost kissed him. She tripped in the grass and he caught her just as she was about to fall. She looked at him so sweetly; held on to him just a few seconds too long. He knew she was going to kiss him, but instead of her lips meeting his, they just pulled into a sly smirk as she righted herself.

She knew what she was doing to him. After they had confided in one another on the beach, Jack was confident that she would let up on him completely. But, her kindness to his male instincts was short lived. Soon she was back to giving him loaded glances and making coy remarks that were just a bit too suggestive. It was all just a big game to her, and at times a cruel one. But, he thought it better to be a player, then to not be in the game at all.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Maybe after this job, things would change. He wasn't fooling himself into really believing that he wouldn't have to work for Sal anymore, but it would be a start. A step in the right direction. Maybe Jeannie would look at him differently, too. Money was obviously important to her. There was no way she would ever leave the charmed life that Bruce could offer her, to make a future with Jack in his crumbling one bedroom apartment. But, the Red Hood Gang could possibly like his work. Ask him back for another job...maybe...just maybe...

NO! Absolutely not. He couldn't even let his mind wander in that direction. This was too dangerous. There was a distinct possibility that tonight would be his last night on earth. He had every expectation that Sal would find out and order his death. Or maybe he would be sent on a botched job... be set up, have the cops waiting on him. No, this was the one and only time he would work with the Red Hood gang...

The absolute last time.

Frankie still paced in front of him. His eyes were wild as he stared down at the ground. His bottom jaw moved as if he was speaking, but no noise was coming out. Jack felt his stomach churn with every pass Frankie made. Frankie must have been having the same thoughts that he was. Maybe his wordless, mumbling was his way of going over his eulogy or imagining what his tombstone would say.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Jack then wondered what his own would say. He was young. He hadn't done anything of any consequence. Yes, he had been to war. He had received a purple heart, but that was it. He wasn't a war hero. He hadn't achieved anything worth remembering.

He had no children of his own to mourn him. Really he had no family at all to notice his absence. Certainly, Aunt Helen would be saddened by his demise. His sister, Molly, would grieve for a while, but he hadn't seen or really even spoken to her in years. Her life would only be disrupted by having to make funeral arrangements. He recalled in her last letter that she said she was pregnant. Surely, that child must have been born by now. So he had a niece or a nephew that would never know he existed.

There was nothing or no one to remember him if he were gone.

What would his epitaph read? There would be no beloved husband, beloved father, beloved anything, for passerby's to read and wonder who the man had been. It would be simple. Pathetic.

_Here lies an idiot._

_Who took pity on an even bigger idiot._

_Now he's dead._

_The end._

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

As Frankie took another pass, Jack began to take labored breaths. What would it be like under that hood? Others had worn it before... it couldn't be that bad. Then a glaring question suddenly occurred to him. A question that should have been at the forefront all along.

Why wasn't there just one Red Hood?

When rumors of the Red Hood Gang would circulate, under the brims of hats and through the bottoms of drink glasses, no one had actually ever experienced being the Red Hood. It was always somebody, who knew somebody, who had a friend, that knew a guy who had been the Red Hood. What happened to the guy afterward? When it came time to dole out the cash, would the Red Hood of the night come to a grisly end? Why would the gang hire someone, give them a payout, then send them on their way? Was there some kind of charity amongst thieves? It couldn't be that simple. Could it?

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Jack couldn't take it anymore. He bent forward and clasped his knees. He couldn't breathe. No matter how forcefully he sucked in the air, it didn't seem to reach its destination. He hadn't eaten that day, but if he had, it would have been in vain, because whatever contents that were in his stomach would have been all over his shoes.

"Knock it off man," he gulped, "Stand the fuck still."

Frankie stopped short. No at Jack's words, but at what he saw standing at the end of the ally.

Jack looked up to Frankie, then in the direction of his gaze. If Jack felt sick before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Silhouetted in the distance were the two members of the gang that had recruited them earlier that day.

Jack swallowed hard as he stood straight. He couldn't take his eyes off of them. As they walked closer he noticed the taller of the two holding what looked like a small luggage bag. He was undoubted that it held the mask that he would soon be donning.

He couldn't believe the predicament that he had put himself in. As much as he wanted to blame Frankie, he couldn't. He agreed to this. Never before had he made such a stupid choice. He was unbelievably conservative when it came to his career- not to mention his life. As much as he despised himself for admitting it...this was all over a woman.

The mere prospect of having enough money for that spoiled little twit to take notice of him was enough to make him do almost anything. Even if it meant his immanent death. He had no shame when it came to her. Being on the outskirts of her life was not enough anymore. He needed more of her...

He needed everything of her...

As Jack watched the taller man begin to open the bag that carried the hood, he vowed that if he survived this night he was going to kill her. He was going to kill her for turning him into this love sick puppy. This man that he didn't even like, let alone respect. Yes, he _was_ going to kill her.

"You's two are here early," the shorter man snorted. "I like early."

Jack looked to Frankie, who was seemingly cemented in place. He jeered at Frankie's new found restraint. What happened to the man who was chomping at the bit for this job?

"I just want to get this over with," Jack said, as he took a step towards the men.

"Awe, come on now. That ain't the attitude to have," the short man said with a laugh.

Jack took the hat from his head and ran his fingers through his sweat dampened hair.

"You got the hood?" He stuck his hand out and motioned for it to be handed over.

"Yeah, yeah," the taller man replied, as he pulled the hard, red mask from its bag. "Jeez...hold yer horses. First we got some details to go over."

Jack looked back down to his watch. It was getting dangerously close to the end of Jeannie's performance. He couldn't get this over with fast enough.

"You put the mask on and go in first. Gun in plain sight and ready to take down anyone you come across. They only have two night guards and they're both outside the vault." The taller man thrust the mask into Jack's hands. "When you come to them, take them out. After that, the twos of us and yer friend here will take care of the rest. You's two will get yer money as soon as we leave."

"What about an alarm?" Jack asked.

"There ain't no alarm on this back door. The guards have to trip it. We will catch 'em off guard. They won't have time. Now put it on and keep it on."

Jack hesitated as he stared down at himself in the reflective surface of the mask. "And if we want to contact you again?" Jack couldn't believe what he had just asked. It just fell out of him. He had no control.

"Ya don't. If we needs ya again, we will find ya," the shorter man said sternly.

The taller of the two slapped Jack's arm. "It shouldn't be hard to find you's two anyway. Just look for Sal Valestra." He smirked. "Now come on, man. Put it on."

Jack glanced to Frankie who was still standing motionless a few steps back. How did they find out? What else did they know? If they had found out who Jack worked for, then they undoubtedly knew about Jeannie. She was already in danger; this was just going to make it worse. There was no backing out now. He just had to do it. Get it over with.

Jack took on final preparatory breath then slipped the red, helmet-like mask over his head.

He kept his eyes closed tightly for a few moments. It was heavier than he had expected and uncomfortably stuffy inside. Everything seemed to be muffled, as if he were underwater. As he slowly opened his eyes he was taken aback by what he saw. From his view, then entire world had turned crimson. It reminded him of...of blood...

The blood that had pooled in his eyes when he was injured during war...

His breath caught in his throat as his chest tightened...

No, not here...

Not now...

The shorter gang member began to work the lock of the alley bank door. With each twist and turn of the knob, Jack felt another bead of sweat begin to form on his brow. The door unlatched within seconds and violently swung open. Before Jack knew it, he was being pushed into the building. He fought the urge to plant his feet and refuse to go any further as he reached for the pistol that hung to his side. This was all happening so fast...

He just needed it to slow down...

Let him catch his breath...

In the distance he could see the figures of two men running towards him. There was so much noise, bangs and shouts, but nothing he could make sense out of from behind the muffled mask. He hadn't even realized that his pistol had gone off before he was stepping over the writhing bodies of the two guards. It was instinctual. He didn't even have to think about it.

His part was over as quickly as it started. He was shocked at how simple it was. The adrenaline that pumped through him made it almost effortless, like he was on autopilot.

The two gang members and Frankie stood around the bank vault, cursing and struggling, to open it. Frankie's quick call to action was impressive. The cowardly little man who was there before had melted away as he masterfully stepped in and began to work the lock.

Dammit, it was hot. Sweat trickled down his back and made his spine tingle. The mask made it almost unbearable. He wanted to rip it off, throw it on the ground and leave. But, since they knew about Sal, he was in no position to veer off the plan.

Sweat began to trail down his face. It felt just like droplets of blood. It was so similar... the feel, the sounds, the sights...no...no...no. This can't happen now. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could. Maybe if he thought about something else he could stop it.

Maybe he could hold it off...

* * *

><p>Jack grimaced as he felt the barrel of a rifle placed against his cheek. It would all be over soon. In a split second. He was sure it wouldn't even be painful. He would be gone before there would be anything to feel. There was nothing to do at this point. Nothing to do, but lay back and wait for the end. He didn't really believe that there was anything after death, but if there were, maybe all of those Sunday school classes that he had been forced to attend as a child would pay off. Or maybe he would get to ride into heaven on the coat tails of one of his more pious family members that had gone before.<p>

The sound of the rifle firing was unbelievable. The ringing in his ears reverberated throughout his entire body. At first he felt nothing...nothing at all. But, soon dissatisfaction set in. He had expected there to be no pain after death. His body was still in agony. His entire right side felt as though it had been ripped off... why did it hurt so much? He felt somewhat cheated.

"Sgt. Napier!" The voice was frantic as it came closer.

"Sgt. Napier!"

Jack peeled open his eyes. He was still alive...how? He didn't know whether to feel elation or disappointment. Yes, he may live to fight another day, but the pain was unbearable. Had he really been dead, at least it would be over.

He looked around for the source of the voice. There was a dead man next to him that hadn't been there before. It was the fucker who had been holding the gun to his head. One of the fuckers who had blown up his convoy. Killed his friends.

It took all of his might, but he spat onto the dead body. It was the least he could do for his comrades. Had he been able to move he would have done much worse. If he were later reprimanded for it, he would just cite combat stress. Besides, if that asshole had gotten hold of Jack's dead body, he would have been dragged through the streets. Hung from a bridge like a trophy, for all to see.

"Sgt. Napier, how badly are you hurt?" Proudy, one of the youngest of Alpha Company, screeched as he slid to Jack's side.

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He couldn't get enough breath to form a word.

"Doc! I need a Doc now!" Proudy screamed, as he slammed his hand against a gaping wound in Jack's chest.

Jack struggled to keep his eyes open. Everything was so foggy. The sounds and voices around him were becoming so fuzzy that he could barely make them out. A Navy Corpsman seemingly appeared at Jack's side. He strained to see which one it was.

Shit, it was Doc Johnson.

He hadn't been a corpsman for long and this was his first deployment. Now, Jack was positive he was going to die.

"Sgt. John Sullivan Napier. He's the most severely injured that is still alive." Doc Johnson sounded so far away as he radioed out for help. "Sucking chest wound to the right upper quad, severe laceration to the face and neck, compound fracture to the right forearm, broken right shoulder, dislocated right hip, broken right femur...that's what I can tell by just looking at him...his internal injuries must be catastrophic... he's a walking dead."

Jack had stopped listening around compound fracture, but the term walking dead made him perk up. He had heard that before...too many times before. That is what they said about someone who was a lost cause. Death was imminent. No point wasting resources on the walking dead, when there were ones that could be saved.

He had originally heard it on his first deployment. He and Cpl. Hall were out on patrol. They had met in boot camp and were shipped off to the same company afterward.

It came out of nowhere. A sniper in the distance caught them in his cross hairs.

Jack had no idea that a human body could hold so much blood. And that it could lose so much from such a tiny hole in the neck...

Walking dead...

He knew he was dying. He could feel the life draining out of him. Blood was dripping down his face and pooling around his eyes. Voices seemed miles away and everything had become so black. Why fight it? Just let go...

* * *

><p>"JACK! JACK!" Frankie's words were frenetic as he shoved Jack forward. "Come on Jack, let's go."<p>

It took Jack a moment to reorient himself. It wasn't the sound of Frankie's voice that he heard first, but rather the sirens. The police sirens that were drawing closer in the distance.

"I thought you said there wasn't a fucking alarm?" Jack shouted at the shorter man.

The vault door wasn't even open. All of the worry, all of the stress was for nothing. Not a single cent.

"I-I... there must have been a silent alarm," the shorter man said, more to himself than to Jack.

"We gotta go," the taller man shouted, as he approached Jack and ripped the mask over his head.

"Fuck...fuck..." Jack hissed, as he wiped the sweat from his face.

He didn't even notice where the two other men had gone. The only thing in Jack's sights was the door that they had come in through. He and Frankie bounded down the hall, jumping over the bodies of the dead guards like they were hurdles. At the very least he was going to jail for the rest of his life. That was if he were lucky. He more than likely would be getting a one way ticket to death row. The bank robbery would be the least of the charges on his rap sheet. He murdered two guards, and not to mention the countless other people who had mysteriously gone missing after having encountered Jack Napier.

What a fool he had been. He thought they could pull it off. He had even been toying with the idea doing it again. All of it had been a waste. He had put his life in danger, surely provoked a rage in Jeannie that would never be forgiven, and now he was going to jail... and had nothing to show for it. Not even a damn penny.

"Holy shit! Holy shit!" Frankie shouted, through ragged breath as they pushed their way through the open door.

They could see the police lights from the street in front of the bank. It would just be a matter of moments before they were completely surrounded. They sprinted to the end of the alley and turned down the closest street. The city that had seemed so dead before had suddenly exploded with activity. They pushed and shoved their way through the crowded street, dodging people and running in front of cars. Another wave of police vehicles turned onto the same street. Jack wasn't sure if they had been spotted or if it was just a coincidence. There was no time to wait around and find ou,t through. He spotted a condemned apartment building a few doors up. That was it; just the place they needed to regroup.

He grabbed Frankie's sleeve and shoved him through the open door as they passed.

"Goddammit," Jack panted.

"We are fucked." Frankie placed his hands atop his head.

Jack looked around the empty apartment lobby. "You're telling me. This will do for now, but we can't stay here long. They will be looking through nearby buildings."

Frankie wandered to the back of the building as he looked for an exit. "The only door back here is boarded up. There ain't no way out. We gotta go up. Maybe there is a fire escape, or an adjoining rooftop."

"Yeah- Yeah...Once we get out though, we gotta slow down. Try to lay low and blend in," Jack replied, as he began to rush up the stairs.

The two men wheezed as they burst through the rooftop door. Every bit of energy was gone as they hopefully looked around the roof for something...anything to get them out.

There was nothing, but the moonlight. As Jack looked over Gotham he could see the theater that Jeannie was in several blocks away. It was too late. There was no way he would make it in time. No way Jeannie wouldn't know that he hadn't been there. He would be lucky if he even got there in time before she left. This was so important to her. He had watched her practice so hard. Listened to hours of her nervously talking through each step. He had promised her that he would be there; that there was no way that he would miss it.

He scoffed to himself as he realized that he was for the first time hoping that Bruce had actually showed up. If he were there, then Jack's presence would be hardly missed. But, who was he kidding? Bruce wouldn't be there. He just had to take whatever would be given to him. He would beg her forgiveness. Confess his feelings for her. Maybe she would pardon this let down...

Doubtful, but anything was possible...

Jack searched around the rooftop again for anything. Perchance a fire escape that they had missed or an air vent that stretched to another building, but there was nothing. Just as he was about to give up hope, he noticed the next apartment building over. It was close... close enough to jump with a good running start. Its roof had an air shaft that extended for several buildings. They could easily escape that way.

"Frankie...Frankie," Jack called him over to the ledge. "Look, we can just jump on to that roof. We can use that air shaft as a walkway to get out of here."

Frankie pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shined it into the gap between the two buildings. "That's a long way down."

"I know, but we got to do it. We're sitting ducks up here."

"It's too bad we can't just walk across the beam from this flashlight," Frankie chuckled as he continued to stare at the ground below.

"That's crazy." Jack slapped Frankie's back. "You would just turn it off, when I was halfway across."

* * *

><p>It was perfect. Every step was completely flawless. Jeannie pushed through her dressing room door and rested her back against it. She was utterly exhausted. She had put her everything into her performance. Every pint up emotion had come spilling forth and had made her simply breathtaking. She couldn't recall the last time she had been at such peace. It was as if a demon had been exorcised from her.<p>

She flopped into the nearest chair and began to pull her point-shoes off. Her legs were in agony, but she presently didn't care. She really didn't care about anything. She began to rub the soles of her feet as she went back through every movement in her performance.

Everything was going to change now. She had no doubt that she earned an audition with the Gotham Ballet. In fact, she was confident that she had just minted herself a golden ticket into the Gotham Ballet. No more small time, Midtown bullshit for her, she was ready for something more. Something more in every aspect of her life.

For the first time since she had met Bruce, she truly didn't care if he was there or not. What could he really offer her? Money? She already had money, no it wasn't billions of dollars, but she would live large for the rest of her life. Bruce offered her no real security. He was absent, undependable, and emotionally distant. If she stayed with him, her worst fear would be realized. She would become her mother. Bitter and cold.

When she tried to talk to him about it, he shrugged it off as business, or just told her she wouldn't understand. What could he be doing every night that was so secretive? Maybe he was spending his time with Andrea Beaumont...maybe not? Now it was a non-issue.

As much as she didn't care if Bruce were there, she did care if Jack was. With the way she felt now, she was undoubted that he was the one for her. He was so good to her. Never let her down...ever faltered. He was a constant companion and comfort. He was so funny and always knew just how to make her smile. There was no conceivable reason why she shouldn't want to be with him.

She couldn't wait to see him. He was probably making his way to her dressing room by now. Usually when she found him outside her door, she would just offer him a smile, and nothing more. But, tonight would be different. Tonight she would embrace him tightly, allow him to wrap his arms around her, kiss his cheek in thanks for the flowers that he would have waiting for her.

Instead of taking her straight home, she would suggest that go out to dinner to celebrate how perfect she had been. Preferably somewhere that they could dance. She would invite him to the dance floor. Press her body against his. Allow him to put his hands on her lower back and hold her closely. And as he dropped her off at home, she would hint at a goodnight kiss. She would let him slightly put his lips against hers, before pulling away and leaving him on her doorstep.

No more bitter disappointments from Bruce Wayne. Now she would choose to be with a man who wanted to be with her. She would be happy. She would be with someone who supported her. Let Andrea have a life of dissatisfaction with Bruce. Jeannie would be blissful and content, and have things that money couldn't buy.

She changed as quickly as she could. She couldn't get to Jack fast enough. She had barely slid her feet into her shoes as she rushed through her door into the busy hallway. There were tons of people milling about, moving props and picking up costumes from dressing rooms. No one for her though. The usual place that Jack stood was empty. She whirled around to look behind her. Maybe he was just caught in the congestion of backstage.

No...

He was nowhere in sight...

Her shoulders slumped as she crossed her arms. She would just wait. He would be here. Possibly he was just waiting for it to clear out a bit; there had been so many people there that it was easy to get caught up in the crowd.

She began to tap her toe in frustration.

A lump began to sting at the back of her throat as her fellow dancers began to file towards the exit with their families. This was completely ridiculous. She was a principal dancer... _the_ principal dancer. All of this fanfare of support should have been for her. She was the one who had carried the show. She was the one who had been given a standing ovation at the end. Now, she was the one standing alone.

Jeannie struggled to form a pleasant smile as Judith Reed passed her. Judith Reed, the fat ballerina, who had been a step behind the beat the entire show. Jeannie was sure that she had even seen her trip at one point. Here she was surrounded by family, who was acting as if she had been a star. Her fiancé had brought her flowers and chocolates to congratulate her. She didn't need those. She already looked terrible in her tights.

"You were wonderful, Jeannie!" Judith said, as she walked up to Jeannie and grabbed her arm.

"Oh thank you sweetie, but so were you. I couldn't keep my eyes off you," Jeannie swooned out in the most sickeningly sweet voice she could muster.

_How could I? Your ass is as wide as the stage._

"So where is Bruce, surely he came tonight?"

Jeannie couldn't tell if Judith's tone was one of true curiosity or cynicism. "Well, he had an important business meetin' tonight. With all the growth and expansion at Wayne Enterprises, he barely has a free moment."

Judith smiled. "What about your friend? Ummm..."

"Jack"

"Yes, Jack. Where is he?"

"I'm sure he is around here somewhere," Jeannie lied. "You must be in a rush with all your family here. Have a goodnight Judith."

"You too, dear," Judith said with a smirk, as she turned to walk away.

Jeannie wanted to curl up into a ball and die. With every dancer that passed, she became more and more embarrassed. She wondered if the building was tall enough to kill her if she jumped from it.

Bullshit...

Complete bullshit..

Jeannie turned on her toes and stomped towards the exit. When she found Jack she was going to hurt him. He may have been head and shoulders above her, but she was going to kick his ass for putting her through this humiliation.

She slammed through the door and instinctively began to dig through her purse for a cigarette. How was she going to get home? She wasn't about to ask for a ride from another dancer. Oh no, she wasn't going to lower herself to that and have to endure a ride of smug glances and contemptuous comments.

Again her foot began to tap...

She huffed as she put the cigarette between her lips. The night was so hot and the city stunk of rotting garbage. The most exciting night of her life and she was spending it next to a dumpster. How did this happen? Where was he?

She looked up in time to see the outline of a man walking towards her in the distance. As he came closer she made out the form of her missing companion. At first she felt relief, but as he came into better view, anger began to boil deep down inside of her.

Her foot began to tap more vigorously as her annoyance grew...

"Sorry, but you're a little late," she shouted, as he came into earshot.

"Jeannie, I'm sorry," he said through ragged breath. "I had something for work come up at the last minute."

He slumped towards her looking as if he had been put through the wringer. She didn't care though. Unless he was literally lying in a gutter dying, there would be no excuse great enough to appease her.

"I don't want to hear it," she said, as she took a step towards him. "You work for me remember?"

"I don't work for you," Jack said with a laugh. "I work for Sal."

"Hmmm, well I guess its good you at least showed up when you did. I was about to go find a tall buildin' and a short rope."

"Don't you think that's a little dramatic, Jeannie... you have another performance in a few days. I'll come to that one." Jack reached for her shoulder as he came next to her.

She backed away. "No, I don't think it's dramatic at all. There may be other performances, but not another opening night. Not for this ballet, at least."

"I've been to every rehearsal. Does that count for anything?"

"You're such an ass. This was the biggest night of my life...and I had no one. You promised me you would be here...you promised." Hot tears began to pour from her eyes. "You are no better than Bruce... or that sorry excuse you had as a father."

Jack's jaw shifted to the side, as he tried to hold back from slinging an insult. "Jeannie, you're treading on ground that you don't want to be."

"For Christ's sake, it's no wonder you couldn't hack it in the military...if you are no more dependable than this."

That was it. He couldn't hear this spoiled little ingrate's tantrum a second longer. Not after the night that he had, not after the stupid choices he had made in hopes of impressing her. She knew nothing about life. She had lived in a sheltered bubble of wealth and prestige. Now she had the audacity to stand in front of him and belittle him.

"What the fuck have you ever done in your life?" he shouted. "You're just a brat...a spoiled brat. This isn't real life, Jeannie. Dancing around on stage is not a real job. Has it ever occurred to you that if it weren't for _"daddy's"_ money, the only dancing you would be doing would be around a pole? That is the future for most of these girls you work with."

"That isn't true."

"It is! You think you're something special, but you're not. You're just lucky. Have you ever had a bill to pay? A mortgage or rent to make? Grow the fuck up!"

Jeannie stared daggers through him. "You know Jack; I don't think I will be needin' your services anymore."

Jack rolled his eyes. "You know you're not serious."

"I am serious. In fact, I am so serious that I would like you to leave now, please."

She stood strong. She wasn't going to back down or give an inch. He was a sanctimonious bastard, that wasn't worth her time. What an idiot. She actually thought that this self-righteous, street-trash was the one for her.

"I'm not leaving you out here on the street by yourself."

"Fine, then I will leave," Jeannie said, as she dropped her cigarette to the ground and began in the other direction.

"How are you going to get home?" He followed closely behind.

"I'll walk." Her chin rose as her stride grew.

He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. "Are you crazy? Your house is miles away. You won't even make it by morning. And do you know what kind of whack jobs are on these streets? You will get mugged, or raped, or worse."

She ripped her arm away from his grip. "Don't you ever put your hands on me. And yes, I know all about the whack jobs on these streets. I can handle them. I have survived you, haven't I? You might hide everythin' under the guise of being a hired-hit, but at the core you're just a murder...a cold blooded killer."

He gritted his teeth and took a step back.

"I-I..." He sputtered.

He wanted something to spew back at her. He tried to come up with a real crusher. Something to knock her down a few rungs, but nothing came to mind. She was right. He was a killer. He did try to justify his actions by saying it was all just a part of the job. It was all an excuse though. He murdered for money. Even innocent people like the two guards he had killed that night. He would cut anyone down for the right price.

"Leave me alone." Her voice was low and warning as she stomped away.

"Fucking brat!" He seethed as he watched her walk away. He had nothing left to do, but let her go. What could he do? If she wanted to do something, come hail or high water, she was going to do it.

He began in the other direction. As he turned the corner to the front of the theater, he looked up at the lighted marquee.

**Jeanine Dupree**

Her name was listed first and most prominent. He looked to the front of the building. It was plastered with advertisement posters that featured Jeannie in a white dress. Her arms were elegantly stretched above her head and her left leg was lifted so far behind her that it looked as if she could topple over with the slightest of ease. She looked perfectly ethereal.

He walked up to one of the posters and placed his hands against it. Why didn't he try harder to hold his tongue? He knew that she would be hurt by his absence. He should have fallen on his sword, begged her forgiveness. Done whatever it took.

She looked so intangible and delicate in the picture before him. He couldn't let her walk alone. She would be killed...

His heart sank...

Oh God...there were people in this city, whose sole purpose for being there was to kill her family. To kill her. Her name had been shining above this theater for weeks. Her picture plastered over buildings throughout the city.

If he had been the one hired for the hit, there would be no more perfect time...

"Oh God..."

"Oh shit..."

He began to sprint in her direction. He had never run so fast in his life. If she were hurt on his watch he would never forgive himself. If she were killed... no he couldn't even think of it...

Just as he rounded the corner he heard it. It was so loud... so earth shattering... obvious gun fire that had come from somewhere close.

He couldn't tell which direction the shot had come from. It echoed off the buildings around him...maybe it wasn't for her... maybe it had missed its intended target.

"Jeannie!" He shouted, as he ran.

"Jeannie!"

"Jeannie!"

He felt utterly hopeless. Where had she gone? She could be lying somewhere dying and he couldn't find her.

Finally he heard a scream, not from Jeannie, but a scream none the less.

He rushed to its source. As he approached he could see a body...a woman's body, lying on the ground, surrounded by people. As he came closer he could see blonde hair strewn around the woman's head like a halo.

It was Jeannie. There was no doubt about it.

He pushed his way through the crowd and fell to his knees next to her. There was blood everywhere. He couldn't find where it was coming from. Strands of her light hair were stained red from blood.

He brushed the hair back from her face and placed his hand upon her cheek. He wanted to pick her up, hold her closely, but he knew that he could only hurt her further. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes, as he looked into her pale face.

"Oh God, Jeannie I am so sorry."

"I'm so, so sorry."

He wasn't going to leave her. He would stay with her to the end. No matter what that might have been.


	7. Chapter 6

**As per usual, thank you for reading and reviewing! It is always appreciated and encouraging! And a very special thank you to Esmeralda Smith, for helping me with a plot point that I was having trouble with. **

**There is a mention of a character in this chapter named Patrick. I obviously know that you don't know who Patrick is yet, but in a few chapters you will. Just know that he is very important to Jack and Jeannie's relationship and he is the turning point for Jeannie's overall happiness.**

**Please enjoy!**

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><p><strong>If there's a god in my head,<br>Then there's a devil too,  
>How can I tell the difference,<br>When they both claim to be true,  
>Maybe God is God,<br>And maybe the Devil is me.**

**-"Salt in the Wound", Delta Spirit**

**Chapter 6-**

How had this happened? How had he allowed himself to become so involved with a _job_? A simple job, no less. Make sure a girl gets home safely- nothing hard about that. Frankie had tried to warn him, but he was too proud to listen.

_"Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall."_

That was one of the few bible verses that Jack could remember. As he looked down at his blood stained shirt, it was the only thing he could think of. Boy, had he fallen. Fallen in love with a girl that didn't and now certainly wouldn't love him back. Fallen flat on his face when it came to the duties of his job. And fallen out of grace with his boss.

Fallen in every way...

He slouched in the uncomfortable, plastic chair that he sat in. This day had been a nightmare...start to finish. He was exhausted emotionally and physically. Taking a simple breath was like running a marathon. Jack had too many days like this in his life. They were beginning to take their toll on his body. As he looked around the room he was sitting it, he wondered if they were taking their toll on his sanity as well.

How he had wandered into this sorry excuse for a chapel was a mystery. It was minuscule, probably had once been an old janitor's closet, but was packed with a seemingly endless amount of waiting-room chairs and a gaudy, gold cross that hung above a makeshift altar.

Even with the world of shit that he had been living in that day, he felt that he needed to be grateful. Jeannie's injuries were minimal and she was going to be fine. The bullet had only grazed her right arm. Her worst injury was a mild concussion and a deep gash to the back of her head from falling against a curb. She would be home in a few days and back on stage in a couple of weeks. It could have been worse...much worse.

He wasn't sure exactly to who, but thanks were certainly in order.

When he had first walked in the chapel, he was confident that his mere presence would be so blatantly offensive that he would be struck down for simply crossing the threshold. But, miraculously as he approached the front row of chairs, it began to dawn on him that he wasn't being zapped out of existence, but rather felt somewhat at peace.

He wasn't even sure that he believed in God- upper or lower case _g. _Jack believed in Jack. He had never folded a hand in praise, bent a knee in prayer, or confessed a sin. He had always pulled himself through the low spots. If there were a God, then His hand had gone unseen.

But, keeping in mind world ending floods and plagues, Jack felt it better to be safe than sorry. A small smirk crossed his lips as he cynically turned his eyes upward.

"Thanks."

He winced as he rose to his feet. He needed to leave. There was no point in waiting around. He had stayed next to Jeannie's side the entire time, never letting go of her hand. That was, until Bruce showed up. Oh how concerned he was; rushing dramatically through her hospital room door, tears filling his eyes as the doctor updated him on her status. "Just one visitor at a time," the doctor sternly reminded Jack, as he urged him towards the door. He was obviously no longer welcome.

A certain absurd smugness came over Jack as he made the short walk to the chapel door. Since his presence in a supposed place of worship hadn't provoked whomever it was that threw the lightning bolts down from above, maybe his numerous sins had gone overlooked or had been forgotten about. Just as Jack was reaching for the doorknob and thought himself in the clear, the door was pulled away from him with a loud whoosh, and he found that God's wrath was going to be brought upon him in a different way than what he had expected. What appeared before him was so evil, so vile that he was surprised that simply coming near something holy didn't make it burst into flames.

"Where were you?" Adele, Jeannie's mother hissed, as she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the hall. "Where the hell were you?"

This was the first time Jack was seeing her since she had arrived at the hospital. She had been out to dinner with a _friend_ when she had gotten word of what happened to her daughter. It took her thirty minutes to make it to the hospital, even though the restaurant that she dined in was only a block away.

"She was out of my sight for no more than a minute," Jack said, as he jerked his arm away from her grasp.

Her eyes narrowed. "She was never to be alone. When you were hired that was made clear."

What did she care anyway? It only mattered to her because she could play the concerned mother. It would have only been better for her if Jeannie had been killed. Then Adele could have wept over her daughter's casket. Screamed out in faux grief and agony. Made a spectacle of herself to attract all of the attention and sympathy away from the dead twenty year old girl in the coffin.

"I made a bad judgment call. The last thing I wanted was for her to be hurt."

"Well, you won't have to worry yourself with poor judgment when it comes to my daughter again." Adele backed away and glanced down the hall to Jeannie's room. "We will no longer be requirin' your services."

"That is a mistake. You think that they will just go away?" Jack's voice rose. "She may be safe while she is in here, but they will be waiting for her."

"Mr. Wayne is goin' to arrange for her to have protection."

"Because he has been so dependable in the past?"

"My daughter is no longer any concern of yours," Adele huffed as she brushed past Jack and yanked open the chapel door. "Now, I'm goin' to go pray for her."

"You do that," Jack spat out.

As he watched the door slowly swing shut, he was suddenly at a loss. His entire life had been completely encompassed by Jeannie for months. Every waking moment somehow involved her. What was he supposed to do now? He wanted to see her again. One last time. Maybe she would be awake. He could apologize and say his goodbyes. She would probably be safer without him. He had allowed himself to become too close. If he didn't get away now, then they could both be hurt.

Jack started toward her room, but paused. Bruce was inside with her... _To hell with it_. Bruce had never made any effort with her before, why should it be different now. Yes, he had immediately arrived at the hospital, but this new found concern would be short lived. It was no secret in the city how he had become orphaned. This just hit close to home. As soon as she was back on her feet, Bruce would be gone again.

"You can't be in here." Bruce's tone was warning as Jack walked through the door.

"I-I'll only be a moment. I just wanted to check on her before I go home."

Bruce brushed his hand over Jeannie's cheek. "She's asleep and needs her rest."

"I know that, but..." Jack walked to the end of her bed and fidgeted with the brim of the hat he held in his hands. "I just couldn't leave without seeing her."

"How could you let this happen?" Bruce didn't take his eyes from Jeannie. "You were supposed to protect her."

"I can't stop everything."

"You weren't even with her. You left her alone on the street."

Jack gritted his teeth. "You left her alone, too."

"I do the best I can. She understands that." Bruce's words were sharp.

"Yeah," Jack snorted.

"I am a busy man." Bruce struggled to keep his voice low. "You were hired to protect her. To stay with her."

"No, I was hired to take her from point A, to point B..."

"...And to get her there safely," Bruce interrupted.

Jack looked to Jeannie. "Yeah...and I did a shitty job. But, I have picked up the slack...your slack," His expression softened as he took a better look at the bandages that were wrapped around her head. "Every time you have let her down, every time you have broken her...I have picked up the pieces. I've been there."

Jack expression turned to one of disbelief when he looked back to Bruce.

"You have it all and you're missing it. She is wonderful and you have her, but you're letting her slip away. Yes, she can come off as cold and superior...a little selfish... a lot selfish..." Jack said with a chuckle as he took a step to Jeannie's side. "But, that is just to people that don't know her. She is a good person...flawed, but kind. When she smiles, it lights up a room. S-She doesn't do it that often, but when she does...well..when she does, she stops everything." His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. "I've witnessed and experienced horrible things. Things that will haunt me for the rest of my life...things that killed me. I came back dead... a shell, just going through the motions. Then I met her..."

He cleared his throat and took a long, exhausted breath as he placed his hat atop his head.

"...You're missing it."

He took a final look at Jeannie. His eyes loitered over her body as he tried to memorize everything about her. The color of her skin, the curve of her chin, the line of her body. He didn't know when he would see her again...if ever. His memory was all he had of her. He couldn't lose it.

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><p>The bright beams of morning sun shining onto Jack's face forced him to peel open his eyes. How was it morning already? It felt like just moments earlier he had been reading a story to Heather. The way his home looked in the morning was something Jack had almost completely forgotten. Normally, he was gone long before the sun came up, that was if he had even managed to make it home the night before.<p>

Everything looked different in the morning light. His home seemed angry and hostile the previous night, but now there was tranquility in the dimness. Footsteps coming down the staircase made Jack prop himself up on his elbows. He first caught sight of her bare feet, lagging on each stair as if she were apprehensive of what may be awaiting her at the bottom.

As she stepped off the last stair, she paused and protectively wrapped her arms around her waist. For a split second, as the window light illuminated her face, Jack caught a glimpse of the girl she had once been. The girl that he had fallen in love with and married. The girl that use to wake him with a smile and a kiss, with messy hair, no makeup, and a white cotton nightgown. Any residual malice that he held from the past night melted away.

"You're awake." Jeannie was the first speak.

"Where are the kids?" Jack questioned, as he sat up.

"Heather and Sullivan have already left for school and Maggie is still asleep. She won't be awake for a couple of hours."

He scowled as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I slept through them getting ready for school?"

"It was a bad night," she said with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, it was." He stood to his feet and nervously shoved his hands in his pockets. "Jeannie, I am so sorry. I would never hurt you."

She lifted her hand to stop him. "Let's just let it go for now. I'm too tired."

He nodded then took a step towards her.

"Do you want somethin' to eat?" Her lips pulled into an uncertain smile.

"I'm not really that hungry, but thank you."

"Well I am," she said, walking away from him as he approached.

The throbbing pain that was beginning to build in his hand caused a wave of shame and anger at himself to rush through his body. He could barely look at her. How could he ball his fist and actually aim it in her direction...how could he do that to any woman? He had always taught his son to never hit a girl and if a man ever laid a hand in anger on either of his daughters, he would kill him.

Hypocrite... That was all he was, a miserable hypocrite

"Jeannie, do you hate me?" He asked, as he walked through the kitchen doorway.

A smooth breath rushed out between her teeth, as she watched him walk to the kitchen table and sit. She really didn't know how to answer. She didn't hate him, but she didn't think she loved him either. She really didn't even like him. Ambivalence was the only word that could be used to describe how she felt for him. She had children with him, so she cared for his well-being. Good things and happiness were all she wanted for him, but emotions as strong as love or hate were nowhere to be found.

She smiled reassuringly. "Of course I don't hate you. Tension has been buildin' for a while. It came to a head last night."

"I want to fix this. I want our family to be strong and happy. I'm going to start coming home every night...and I promise I will be early enough to spend time with the kids, as often as I can. No stop offs...no hiding away in the garage. Whatever it takes...whatever you want." His words were sincere.

"Heather told me you read a book to her last night." Her tone was approving. "It meant a lot to her. She misses you."

Jack's shoulders slumped as another wave of guilt passed over him. "She's been through a lot."

Jeannie uncomfortably began to shift on her feet at Jack's words. "You're not goin' to like this, but I think we should see a marriage counselor. At least for the kids."

"Jesus Christ," he said through a sigh as he put a hand on his forehead. "Wouldn't you rather just take a vacation? You've been saying that you've wanted to go back to New Orleans for years. Let's drop the kids off at my sister's on the way, then you and I can go have some fun together. We haven't done anything together in years."

"Yeah, Jack let's send the kids to North Carolina in the middle of the school year..."

Jack interrupted, "They are in second grade and kindergarten...what are they going to miss? Calculus?"

Jeannie's face reddened as she began to tap her foot in frustration. "Okay, so let's just slap a Band-Aid on a bullet hole. A week alone together isn't goin' to fix eleven years of shit."

He rolled his eyes as he looked up to her. "Our entire marriage has not been shit. Only the last ten years...uh...fuck." He slammed his hands down on the table, instantly grimacing as a sharp pain shot up his arm. "...Why can't we just try to fix this on our own?"

"Because it always disintegrates into us screamin' at each other and our kids coverin' their ear and cryin' under their blankets. We've tried and we can't." She pushed herself away from the counter. "And whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you know I haven't been actin' myself lately. I need help again, before it gets as bad as it did last time."

Jack sat back in defeat. "Why can't you just be happy? I have tried everything I possibly can to make you happy and healthy." He shook his head in confusion. "I did exactly what your doctor said to do. I took you out of the city and gave you a peaceful place. Moving to this house was supposed to make everything better."

"But, it didn't. It has only gotten worse. I hate this neighborhood. I hate the people here. I hate this house." Hot tears began to stream down her face. "I want to go home. Back to the city."

He felt absolute hopelessness as he looked at the frail figure of his wife. "I have given you everything. I have given you children. I've _built_ you the biggest and best house in this neighborhood and now you say you hate it. When we were in Gotham you weren't happy then either. You wanted me home more, so I quit working for Sal and got a job at Ace Chemical making half of what I made before. I was home every night, but you weren't happy because we had to move from the townhouse back to the old apartment."

She remained silent. Everything he was saying was true. There was nothing to come back with.

"Then I get a call from Heather's principal telling me that she has missed a month of school... _a month of school,_ "he repeated for emphasis." And when I asked her about it, she tells me she misses school because mommy is too sad to take care of Maggie." He paused to keep himself from becoming angry. "Our daughter has to repeat a year of school because she had to stay home to diaper and feed her baby sister because you were too depressed to do anything other than lay in bed and cry all day."

"I couldn't help it Jack," she choked out.

"Do you ever wonder why I never come home?" he asked with folded arms. "I am terrified every time I walk through that door. I am terrified of what I might find."

"Please don't do this..."

"I will never get that image out of my head." He felt angry tears begin to sting his eyes. "I will never get over you slicing your wrists open while our children were sleeping in the next room. It was just by luck that I found you before one of them did." His voice turned from angry to helplessness. "I can't do it again, Jeannie. I can never again ask our daughter to call 911, while I am trying to stop you from bleeding to death. I can't see her that afraid again."

Jeannie covered her face in shame as she sobbed.

There was something cathartic about getting it all off of his chest. He had held it in for months and now it was spewing forth so quickly that he couldn't have stopped it, even if he wanted to. They always called it her _"accident"_, but there was nothing accidental about it. She had put their children to bed then went into their bathtub and slit her wrists with a kitchen knife. She had created so much discourse in their family, so much hurt and bitter feelings, that at times he felt nothing, but hatred for her. That was what prompted so much anger in him when he had almost hit her. She actually had the nerve to call him a bad father, when she had caused so much grief for their children. He didn't want to hurt her or to bring up things that he promised he never would, but he had to get rid of it if he ever hoped for them to move forward.

"Jeannie, if I could go back and not take that doctor's advice, I would. I would wash it all away. Quitting at Ace Chemical, going back to work for Sal, building this house. But, I can't. When I did all of those things I was just trying to help you. I wanted to make you happy and better again."

She took a deep breath. "I know all of that and even if I don't show it, I do appreciate it. I appreciate how hard you have worked for our family. It hasn't gone unnoticed."

"I'm sorry that life didn't turn out the way you wanted it to. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a comedian, but I never tried. I can't imagine what it would be like to put as much work into your dream as you did, just to have it all taken away. I didn't want that for you. When you fell and broke your leg...it must have been horrible knowing that dancing was over for you. That all of your hard work was for nothing. And then what happened a few months later with Patrick..."

"Please, Jack just stop!" she shouted over him. "I can't hear any more of it... especially about Patrick. I know I have pushed you away and have acted ungrateful for everything you have done for me. I know I haven't been easy to live with."

"You're right," he agreed then gave a small, thoughtful shrug. "It hasn't been easy being married to you, but at least it hasn't been boring."

A pitiful laugh escaped Jeannie as she joined Jack at the table. "I want to try again...start over."

A weak smile appeared on Jack's face. "God knows I don't want to, but I'll go to the marriage counselor. I just want you to be _happy with me_."

"I've had problems after every baby we have had. With Heather I cried for six months after she came home, I stopped getting out of bed and eatin' when I had Sullivan and, well, after Maggie..." She ran her fingers over the thick scars on her wrists. "I-It just gets worse every time and I don't want that with this one." She lovingly placed her hand on her stomach. "We can kill two birds with one stone. Fixin' us and fixin' me."

He smiled and placed his hand atop of hers on her stomach. "You've always been right before. So what do you think? Boy or girl?"

"It feels like a boy."

He slid from his seat, to his knees and buried his head against her stomach. "A boy..."

She ran her fingers through his hair and smirked. "Just what the world needs...another man."

From his mother dying when he was young, to an abusive, drunken father, to almost dying in war, to having a morally bankrupt career... Jack's life had been a lesson in perseverance. While he didn't always deal with the tragedies in the healthiest or most proactive ways, nothing ever knocked him down for too long. He would be left dented, but not destroyed. But, it was completely different when it came to Jeannie. As much as he loved her, she was his greatest failure. He always let her down. From allowing her to be shot, to ignoring her downward spiral and cries for help. He only wanted to make her happy. But, everything seemed to fall short, or blow up in his face. Nothing was ever good enough...

But, the road to hell is almost always paved with good intentions.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! <strong>


	8. Chapter 7

Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing! Although, I try to PM everyone who reviews, but I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone: 2 headed dragonlover, Scram, ammie d, Moonlight30, Maggie May Have Tried, , Duchess of Decorum, FancyToad and last, but absolutely not least, Anonymous Rex! You all have really kept me motivated and I **can not** thank you enough! Many of these reviewers are also authors who have all written some great stories about some of our favorite villains that you really should check out!

And to those of you who are just readers, I am so grateful to you for taking the time out of your busy lives to read my story. Just watching my hits count go up on each chapter is also very motivating! Thank you!

I hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks again for reading!

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><p><strong>"Ladies and Gentlemen! You've read about it in the papers! Now witness, before your very eyes, that most rare and tragic of nature's mistakes! I give you: the average man." <strong>

**-The Joker, The Killing Joke**

**Chapter 7-**

A metallic, grinding whine screeched out from beneath the hood of Jack's car as he slowly and hopefully turned the key in the ignition. "Shit," he croaked out as he slid from the driver's seat and indignantly stomped around to the front bumper and shoved the hood open in one fluid movement.

"It was purring like a kitten yesterday," Todd Willis, the fat neighbor with balding, red hair from across the street, said with an uncomfortable chuckle, while lifting one corner of his upper lip in an awkward sneer.

Jack's nose wrinkled as he looked into the engine. "Well it sure as hell isn't now."

This car had become the hope of the men who lived in the cul-de-sac at the end of Vicksburg Street in Crown Point Estates. It was a glimmer of the lives they'd lived before they had become neutered husbands with nagging wives and children hanging from their extremities like monkeys as they walked through their doors after a hard, day's work. Jack had bought it the same month that he and Jeannie had moved into their freshly minted home. It's purchasing set off one of the most heinous- if not _the_ most heinous argument, aside from the one that climaxed with his fist connecting with the refrigerator, that they'd ever had during their married life. One that surprisingly was never mentioned, and even more surprisingly, one of the few that Jack could triumphantly say that he'd won.

"A classic Camaro Super Sport," he said to his wife, with wide eyes and as much enthusiasm as a child going over their Christmas list. "It has a perfect leather interior and a great paint job. Now it needs work- a lot of work, but I-I've always wanted to fix up a car. A-And I could give it to Sully, when he is old enough to drive." His words dropped of his tongue so quickly and with such earnest determination that there was no way she could have gotten a discouraging word in.

At first her expression was strangely serene, like the stomach churning calm before a storm. As he stared into her cool, blue eyes he began to fill his lungs with a continues inward stream of air in preparation for the ensuing shouting match. But, much to his amazement she remained silent. Maybe this was going to work. She'd gotten a shiny, new house, why couldn't he have a not so shiny old car, to remind himself that he was still a man?

She blew a strand of fallen hair from her face then turned her back to him as she walked from their bedroom. "No," she called over her shoulder as nonchalantly as if she were saying that the sun was shining.

Her drew the insides of his cheeks between his teeth and pocketed both his clenched fists to restrain himself from picking up the overpriced, yuppie chair, that she had conspicuously placed in a corner with a Tiffany lamp, and hurling it through her prized, antique looking glass. "Fine. Fucking fine!" he shouted as he snatched his keys from the nightstand and soon found himself slamming through their front door. He was getting that car. To hell with what that woman wanted. Within an hour he returned with a tow-truck hauling his fixer-up car closely behind. He proudly parked it in the empty space in the garage and covered it with a large canvas tarp while envious, neighbor men began gathering around.

That night, during dinner Jeannie stayed fairly silent about Jack's blatant disrespect for her opinion, but hostility hung in the air as thick and as painfully deep as water. Jeannie's teeth were snapped tightly shut and her face turned a brooding, crimson color that Jack knew too well. Their children's eyes darted back and forth between their parents, waiting for which one was going to explode first. The tension was so heavy and so unnerving to Sullivan, that Jack simply speaking Jeannie's name to ask her to pass the salt, caused him to throw up over his plate of food and down his shirt. Feeling her own frayed nerves and seeing her brother's distress caused Heather to immediately burst into tears and run from the table wailing, while covering her face.

And that was the beginning of Jack's ever increasing absence at the family dinner table.

Needless to say, dinner was over and the brewing fight proceeded. A fight that would last well over a month. A month filled with slamming doors, refusals to speak, and both of them lying as far away from each other in the bed as they possibly could. By God, neither of them was going to relinquish the bed, even if it meant hanging from the sides by their fingernails. Finally their battle came to a crescendo during a late night screaming match that ended with Jeannie storming into the garage, picking up a screwdriver, and stabbing the hood of his car.

As she laid her eighth and final blow through the sleek, black paint job, she forcefully threw the screwdriver to the ground, as if she were frightened that her next stab would be at her husband's chest. She then turned to Jack's bewildered form and stared at him as if he was a stranger that had just walked in on some embarrassing act.

Jack's jaw fell and shoulders tensed as he looked at his heaving wife. _Make no sudden movements, or sounds until she stops being crazy. _For some reason, this senseless act of violence against a defenseless car was more shocking to him than finding her lying naked in their bath tub with filleted open wrists. "Well, I think- I think you killed it," he said, walking to her side and gingerly laying his hand atop her shoulder. "Let's just go to bed, okay?"

And that was the last it was ever spoken of.

Now the car stood as a glittering, symbol of male superiority- or at least that is how the men saw it. The hood had since been replaced and whenever Jeannie and Jack would have an argument, he would make his way to his garage and splay his fingers out over its smooth metal with as much tenderness as if he were touching a woman's breasts- he may have lost the battle, but not the war. He was still a man.

It had gone neglected for months, during Jack's self-imposed exilement from his home. But, since he and Jeannie had raised their white flags and called a truce a month ago, Jack found himself huddled around its open hood with three of his neighbors. Each of the four men gazing over its engine with glossy eyes, as if they were virgins getting their first look at a naked girl.

None of the wives seemed to mind, including Jeannie. Jack had made considerable progress. He promptly arrived home every evening at five- save the occasional extra job that he would be given by Sal, that would hold him over. He would eat a pleasant meal with his family, occasionally rewarding his wife with approving looks from across the table as he scooped a second helping onto his plate. He would then take his children to the back yard, while Jeannie cleaned up, and push them on the swings or throw a baseball to his son. After each of their three children were tucked tight into their sheets, he would then slip out to their detached three car garage, not to drink himself into a drunken stupor like before, but rather to do something productive... to work with his hands and break a sweat across his brow. Then as the congregation of men would slowly disperse, like little boys running home from a sandlot, he would carefully slip into bed and wrap his arms around his wife. It was almost as if nothing had happened. The post-apocalyptic tone of the house was beginning to fade and the, "what the hell just happened?" expressions that were usually plastered across the faces of victims of sudden impacts, were beginning to give way to _normalcy._ It was all so perfect... so bleedingly generic, that it was almost grotesque. They'd both seemingly resigned themselves to what life had given them. No more lamenting on what might have been. Jeannie, day in and day out, began her one woman show of- _mediocre housewife is all I have ever aspired to be, with a husband who comes home on time and takes the garbage out_. And every morning Jack would begin his monologue of- _I'm not so terrified that my wife is going to kill herself, that I am willing to chop my own balls off to make her happy. _

They both gave stunningly, convincing performances. One might say that they'd missed their callings.

But, even though forced happiness had seemingly grasped the Napier family in its iron clutches, there was always a twinge of nervous energy buzzing through the air. When was it going to happen again? Who was going to be the one to set it off? Which piece of furniture was going to suffer the wrath of the next tantrum? Heather had become the unsolicited peacekeeper amongst the family. Whenever a voice would be raised, even for something as innocent as calling the family to dinner, her face would immediately redden as her eyes rounded and she would squeal while flapping her hands, "Mommy and Daddy don't fight."

"Maybe the alternator went bad again," Todd said, taking a step toward the front of the car and forming a hard fist around the neck of his beer.

Jack stood straight with a sigh and wiped his oil stained hands across his torn shirt. "I just replaced it, not even a month ago."

Todd's usual shit eating grin accompanied his befuddled shrug as he took a swig from his beer.

Todd Willis was the only of the neighborhood men, who was _helping_ Jack at the moment, and his was the company that Jack preferred to all the others. Todd and his family lived in one of four houses in Jack's cul-de-sac. He was in his late forties and was a mid-level account manager at an advertisement firm. A job that he quite liked because he could take his brain out, leave it at the front desk, and pick it up at the end of the day- or at least that was how he described it. His pride and joy was his nineteen year old son, who was off at college in the Midwest, studying biology. "He is going to be a shoe-in for medical school," Todd would always say with an expanding chest and raised chin. He had a sixteen year old son, named Russ, as well, who'd been killed in a car accident a year before the Napier family moved to Crown Point Estates. Todd never really talked about Russ, unless he had one too many beers and then it would always be something simple like, "Ol' boy would've loved that." He had a wife named Jane who wore far too much makeup and had an annoyingly, over-animated smile. She would drop in on Jeannie unannounced all of the time, and engage her in simple conversations of, "How 'bout this weather?" or "Can you believe those silly men?" before suggesting that the Napiers come over for dinner sometime soon. At which time, Jeannie would begin coming up with different polite excuses, "Oh we wouldn't want to put you out," before eventually back-peddling and giving in.

Next to Todd Willis, lived another of Jack's garage buddies, Andrew Ryan. Jack really knew nothing about Andrew other than he was a muckety-muck at Wayne Enterprises- a lawyer perhaps. He was in his early thirties and never really had much to say. He would never venture to Jack's house unless Todd Willis was already there- Todd did enough talking for the both of them. He had a wife named Milly...no Sandy- Jack could never remember. He had just resigned to calling her nothing, since he only saw her in passing, and their only communication was polite waves of the hand from across the lawns. Andrew had twin girls that were...well... odd. They were at least ten, yet still wore matching outfits and Jack had never seen them more than a couple of feet apart. "Weird kids," Jack would say with a shudder every time he backed down his driveway and caught them playing in their yard. But, despite their quirks, the Ryan family seemed like any other average family in Crown Point Estates.

Then there was Vince Carpenetti...Jack hated Vince Carpenetti. Despite Jack's distaste for Vince, they were actually very similar. They were both extraordinarily tall and had similar facial features and personalities. What separated them was a ten year age difference and a healthy childhood. Jack had first met Vince while he was briefly working at the Ace Chemical Company as a lab tech. Vince was a senior chemist, boasting a Ph.D. in Inorganic Chemistry and had made many important, and needless to say, impressive discoveries. He'd taken an interest in Jack, almost like an older brother leading the way. He suggested Jack for learning opportunities and promised to put a good word in for him if he was ever up for promotion. As a show of solidarity, Vince invited the Napier family over for dinner several times- always with a loving wife waiting on him. It was obvious that he had the most impressive house in the neighborhood- that would be until Jack would build one twice as nice in the empty lot across the cul-de-sac a few months later. No matter how kind or helpful Vince was, Jack couldn't make himself like him. He was a reminder of everything Jack would never be, but could have been if anything in his life had turned out normal. Like Vince, Jack loved chemistry in high school, and was quite astute at it, but rather than going to a University and declaring it as his major, he raised his right hand and pledged his life away to the Marine Corps. While Vince was earning his Ph.D, Jack was pinned down in a foxhole by enemy fire, hoping to get out alive. And to top it off, Vince was funny- hysterical in fact. Jack was comical, and knew how to turn a phrase, but every damn thing that came out of Vince's mouth was a jewel.

But, the real kicker of it all was that Vince, not only had the admiration of his own wife, but Jack's as well. Oh how Jeannie loved to have the Carpenetties over for dinner. She would transform from suburban slave to domestic goddess at the mere thought of Vince being in her home. When other families would come over she would dress comfortably, but if the Carpenetties were coming, she would pull out her best cocktail dresses, and put on so much hairspray that a single hair wouldn't dare fall out of place. She would then giggle like a schoolgirl at Vince's jokes and look up at him through batting eyelashes. Then, as soon as the evening would be over, and their front door would click shut, Jack and Jeannie would erupt into screams about her being no better than a common whore, and how he had sucked the life out of her. At some point during the night Jeannie would lock herself in their bathroom and Jack would show a fine display of his masculinity by shouting at the bathroom door with a rigid, pointed finger, "Open the door...if you don't open it up this minute, I'm going to break the goddamn thing down."

_But, that was all in the past._

"Jack...Jack..." Jeannie shouted, while poking her upper torso out their bedroom window.

Jack slammed shut the hood of the car and walked outside the garage door with Todd close behind. "What do ya need sweetie?" he said, squinting up at Jeannie's messy curls.

"Oh hi Todd." She smiled. "I didn't know you were out there. Say hi to Jane for me."

"I'll do that- she wanted me to ask you and Jack over for dinner tomorrow."

Dinner amongst the cul-de-sac neighbors was a common event. Sometimes all together; sometimes just certain couples. It was their way of displaying that they were living the American dream, with their all-American families, in their all-American houses, while the sprinklers spun on their perfect lawns every evening at dusk.

She brightly smiled. "Oh we would love to- wouldn't we Jack?"

"Uh uh...yeah, we would love to." The corner of Jack's mouth began to twitch upward in a skeptical grin. This was normally the time that a line between Jeannie's eyebrows would form and her voice would raise an octave, as the wheels in her mind would begin to spin, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse. Frankie and his wife, Tonya, were trekking in to the suburbs for dinner tonight, and shockingly Jeannie was actually looking forward to their visit. But, two dinners, in two nights would usually be too much socialization for Jeannie.

"We will just have to find a sitter I guess." Her voice was almost irritatingly cheerful.

"Aww just bring 'em with you. It's been too long since we've had kids in our house," Todd said while, waving his hand in an "it's no big deal" gesture.

"Great! Tell Jane we will be there, and if she needs me to bring anything just let me know." She looked to Jack. "Frankie just called to let us know they will be here in an hour. You should probably come in and get ready, don't you think?"

"Y-yeah, you are right." He turned to Todd and shook his hand. "I guess we will be seeing you tomorrow night."

"See you both then." Todd waved up to Jeannie before turning and walking down the small slope of Jack's driveway.

Jack watched Todd for moment to make sure he was out of earshot, then looked up to Jeannie. "Are you feeling okay?"

She cocked her head to the side and inquisitively wrinkled her brow. "Yeah- I'm feelin' great actually. Why?"

"You actually want to have dinner with the neighbors?"

Her shoulders rose and fell with a small sigh. "You're tryin'; I'm tryin'. Come get ready, okay?"

He nodded as he watched her disappear into the house. "I will be there in a minute."

He took a couple of deep breaths and looked over the neighborhood. It was the first warm evening of the year and the happy shrieks and playful screams of kids running through their lawns and playing hopscotch on the sidewalks were mixed in with the sound of spring time insects humming through the air. _It was all perfect. _As he reached up and pulled the garage door shut, an overwhelming sense of satisfaction rushed through him. For the first time in a long time, he felt as though everything was going to okay.

As he turned, he caught sight of his home illuminated in the evening sun and his chest began to broaden in pride. The day after Jeannie had her _accident, _her doctor suggested that it may be beneficial to her health to get out of the city. The hustle and bustle of it all would only aggravate her condition and cause her harmful stress. She needed peace and quiet...normalcy. That very night Jack was setting up a job with the Red Hood Gang to make the money that would be needed to build a house... no, not just a house, but a home for his family to finally be happy in. He knew exactly where he wanted to build it too- it would quite literally be just what the doctor ordered. Within a week he was closing on the empty lot in the cul-de-sac at the end of Vicksburg Street in the much desired Crown Point Estates...the empty lot right across from Vince Carpenetti. The house was built and move in ready before Jeannie was even out of the hospital. It was a large...very large...two story Colonial, with white cedar-shake siding and blue shutters. It was crisp, with clean lines and hardwood floors throughout. It was perched on a little knoll with a perfect lawn and smooth driveway that sloped up to a matching three car garage with a small apartment that Jack planned to put a pool table in... one day, at least.

There was a touch of tension between Jack and Vince when the Napiers first moved to Crown Point. Vince had stuck his neck out more than once for Jack, then he suddenly quit and somehow came into enough money to build the nicest house, in the most affluent suburb of Gotham. "Somebody must have died and left him a lot of money, cause he was making chicken shit at Ace," Vince would say to the other neighbors, when they would have a dinner that the Napiers were either not invited to or declined to attend. "Well, I heard that she once dated Bruce Wayne, it wouldn't surprise me at all, if one of those kids is his. Maybe that is how they have money? She used to be a dancer, you know? All of those artistic types are loose," Andrew Ryan's wife- Milly...or maybe Sandy- would say with a nodding head and wide eyes as she would gossip to the other wives.

In truth, no one really knew what Jack Napier did and how he made his money. When asked, he would just say that he worked for the Valestra Corporation. The other men, not wanting to look ignorant of the big businesses in Gotham, would cross their arms and with approving nods add, "Good company."

While Jack occasionally still had to get his hands dirty, his job with Sal Valestra had moved from work horse to authority figure. Sal, in his increasing old age and declining health was more of a figure head, than actual boss. Now Jack was the top dog. He was the one to make or break deals, and the final decision maker. Although his responsibility increased significantly, his pay did not. Jack's real income came from his side job... as the Red Hood. They liked his work. He was clean, fast, and flawless and they were more than happy to work with him whenever he wanted... or whenever they wanted. While Jack had not made himself a fortune pulling the occasional job under the Red Hood, he had certainly cemented his family into upper middle class life. It had become easy, and his disloyalty to Sal had either gone unnoticed or overlooked. As far as Jack could see, the Red Hood Gang would only bring him..._happiness._

Contentment was the only emotion Jack felt as he walked through the kitchen door and down the hallway to the family room where his two oldest children both laid on their stomachs with their chins resting in their palms, watching television and his youngest daughter slept in a playpen surrounded by toys.

"Why aren't you two outside playing with your friends?"

"Mom said not to get dirty," Sullivan replied, without looking away from the mindless cartoon that his eyes were fixed to.

"And where is your mom?"

Heather turned her head just enough to get a peripheral view of her father standing at the bottom of the staircase. "In your room, getting dressed."

Jack looked up to the clock then back to his children. "I have to get ready, too. Be good, and don't open the door for anyone unless it is your Uncle Frankie. Okay?"

"Okay, Dad," Sullivan said with the same tone of annoyance that his mother often flung towards his father.

"Okay, Dad," Jack said under his breath. Had he used that tone with his father, he would have been down a few teeth. But, then he realized that is what every generation says of the next. He had many times heard both of his parents say, "Had I talked like that to my parents...then blah blah blah." In one ear and out the other. He would spare his son that speech this time and himself the wasted breath.

As he tromped up the stairs to his bedroom he ran his hand over the three days' worth of scruff that had grown on his face. He pulled his dirty shirt over his head as he walked into the bedroom and threw it at an overly full clothes hamper in the corner- Jeannie always said that he didn't know that the top of a hamper actually opens and the clothes go inside of it, rather than on top of the lid or beside it. As he turned to the adjoining bathroom, he caught sight of Jeannie standing in front of the sink staring at herself in the mirror. She was only dressed from the waist down and her top was only covered by an unflattering bra that made her breasts look smaller than they already were. It was as though in the middle of getting dressed she caught a glimpse of her reflection and was stopped in her tracks.

She looked at herself as if she had no idea who she was. She ran her fingers up her jawline and to her temples, where she pushed back the skin that made little wrinkles to the side of her eyes. The lines that she once studied with such horror on her mother's face were beginning to show on her own. It filled her with such dread, that she at times couldn't stand to even look at herself. Too much of her mother was seeping into her own personality. She was becoming her worst nightmare.

Jack watched her for a moment. It was at these times, when she thought no one was looking, that he liked her best. Jeannie was a master at putting on a great front. To anyone on the outside looking in, her life seemed ideal. Beautiful woman, with a handsome husband, and gorgeous children, move into a dream home far from the crime and degradation of the city. No one knew how she had arrived there. No one knew that she'd sobbed the entire drive from Gotham to suburbia. No one knew that the expensive bracelets she once was never seen without covered ugly red scars. After all, at one time she had been a performer- she knew how to put on a good show. But, when her guard was down she looked like a real person, not something contrived and forced to wear a smile.

He slowly walked up behind her and put his hands on her elbows then traced the line of her waist downward to her hips. "You're beautiful," he whispered, as he placed a soft kiss on her neck.

She looked over her shoulder to him with one cocked eyebrow. "Don't think you're gettin' lucky. The kids are right downstairs and you smell like a grease trap."

His lips remained against her skin as they turned upwards into a grin. "So you are what? Three months along now?" He ran his hands across the small bump below her navel that would've hardly been noticed had he not known her body so intimately.

She put her hands over his. "Hard to believe huh? I can't believe I can't imagine why I didn't even notice until I was two months along. It should've been so obvious."

"You were under a lot of stress." He rested his chin atop her head.

She turned to face him and placed her hands on his chest. "Are you happy?"

His expression dropped. Why did she always have to do this when things seemed to be going in the right direction? "Yes... a-aren't you?"

Her eyes closed as she sighed in relief. "More than I have been in a long time."

He took a step back and put his hands on her shoulders. "Why are you asking me this now?"

"I've put you through so much. I'm startin' to have some clarity now and when I look back on the way I have treated you and the kids...well, I just feel horrible. Jack, I just want you to know that I am sorry, and that I don't know why I do the things that I do. I don't know why I have been this way. _I don't want to be._ I wanted to be a good wife and a good mother. I can see myself wreckin' and ruinin', but I can't stop myself. Sometimes I feel like there is another person in me, pullin' strings for fun... I don't know why I do these things...I don't know why I...I..." Her eyes filled with tears and she couldn't look him full in the face.

"Hey...hey..." He put his hands on her face and forced her to look him in the eyes. "Don't cry. There is nothing that you have ever done, that I didn't go a long way in driving you to. No matter how hard it has been, every day since the day we got married, when I wake up next to you, I feel like I need to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. I ask myself all the time, how some loud-mouth punk made a gal like you fall in love with him. And, I worry all the time about the things I have put you through. Times I've taken you for granted... times I've let you down. When I have been between jobs and didn't have two pennies to rub together..."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest. "Honey, don't worry about any of it. I still love you, y'know. Big house; little house. Job or no job... you're good in the sack..."

He laughed and backed away. "Y'know...you said I smell like a grease trap and you've rubbed up against me. You probably smell like one too now...maybe you should take another shower?" He said with bouncing eyebrows and a wide grin.

"Hmm, you know the other reason I love you?" She turned on her toes and walked towards the bedroom.

"No..." he said, timidly. "What is the other reason?"

She smiled then began to pull the door closed between them. "Because, you always know how to make me laugh..."

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><p>"She looks good, Jack. Better than I have seen her look in a long time," Frankie said, while taking a seat at the table on the back patio.<p>

Jack looked over his shoulder through the kitchen window where Jeannie and Frankie's wife, Tonya, were finishing up dinner. "Yeah, she does. She seems to be doing better. She smiles and plays with the kids. She hums when she cooks, like she used to- she is tone deaf," he laughed, "but, she hums again."

"Is all of this happiness amongst the Napier family, the magical work of the marriage shrink?"

Jack chuckled then sat across from Frankie. "No, those plans have somehow slipped her mind- I'm starting to wonder if it's a good or a bad thing, though."

"Tonya wanted to go see one of those right after we got married." Frankie uncomfortably straightened his back. "No way in hell... you let people start prodding around in your head and bad things happen."

"I think we are both actually trying for the first time." Jack turned his eyes downward to mask the emotion that talking about his wife's behavior normally produced. "Next Wednesday is my thirty-fifth birthday and she is actually planning a surprise party for me. I wasn't supposed to know about it, of course, but my neighbor's wife let it slip," He waved his hand as if he had gotten off track. "The point is... well... she has never done anything like that for me. She is really trying."

"I'm supposed to keep you out of the house until everyone can get here," Frankie said, with a grin.

Jack looked up and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I figured you knew about it."

Frankie sat forward and his expression hardened. "Look Jack, I know things are going real good for you right now and all... and I'm not trying to bring you down or anything, but we are friends- we've been friends for a long time and I think I need to make you aware of something."

Jack sat back to steady himself for what was about to come. "Well, spit it out."

"I think Sal is getting wise to your _other _job."

Jack scowled and a small sneer spread across his face. "There's no way."

"Since that surveillance picture of the Red Hood was released a few months back, he has been asking questions about how you got the money for this place."

Jack's heart sank. There were not many surveillance pictures or videos of the Red Hood, and there were none of Jack as the Red Hood. That was until the heist that he pulled to obtain the money to build his family a new home resulted in one lone photograph of the back of the Red Hood from an archaic surveillance camera. It had been locked away in evidence files in the Gotham police station for months, but three months ago it was released to the public. It was dark, shadowy and very grainy, but from that photo it was surmised that the Red Hood was a white male, in his mid-thirties, between the heights of 6'3"-6'5". Jack had stared at the photo for hours trying to convince himself that there were lots of white, tall guys in their mid-thirties- there was no way he could be pin pointed. After all, he led an unassuming, mild-mannered life.

"I told him that I got an inheritance big enough to build this place when my aunt died," Jack scoffed.

"That would explain this house, but what about all the other shit?" Frankie hissed. "What about the three top of the line vehicles in the driveway? What about the expensive furniture? What about the private school? Should I go on? You've gotten sloppy, Jack. You used to only pull jobs with them that had a small pay out- only big enough to buy a new car, or get yourself ahead on your bills. Nothing too noticeable. But, building this place and living like your last name is goddamn Wayne is sloppy."

"I'm not living like my last name is Wayne." Jack shook his head and closed his eyes. "Look, there is no way that he has any proof. Hard proof."

"Has he ever needed hard proof before? I am telling you..." Frankie pointed an accusatory finger at Jack's chest."...that he is starting to put two and two together. And if he finds out, you can kiss your ass goodbye. You can't work with them anymore."

Jack took a deep breath. "I can't exactly tell them no..."

"So you're planning another job then?"

"It's just in its very early planning stages," Jack mumbled.

Jack looked back into his house to see his wife smiling and laughing. It was such an unfamiliar sight, that he couldn't look away. She looked genuinely joyful. She loved Frankie's wife, Tonya. She was one of the only people that Jeannie didn't say, "Well, she's a nice person, but..." about after meeting her. Life was finally turning the corner and now this... This couldn't happen.

It just couldn't...

"You can't do it. I know you are smart enough to have a savings account... YOU CAN'T DO IT," Frankie said, matter-of-factly.

"Like I said, I can't just tell them no." Jack stood abruptly. "Plus, I need this money. Yes, I have a savings account, but this job is huge and it will pull in huge money- we are talking, I will never have to work for Sal or anyone ever again money. I need to be home. I need this job. My family needs this job."

"Your family is fine. You said yourself that things were going well." Frankie's voice was almost pleading.

"Things are going great, but..." Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and began to pace. "I was talking to Jeannie today and...and... something isn't right. Our conversation was perfectly normal. We were pleasant, and we joked around, but then she looked at me and said, 'Jack, I just want you to know that I am sorry and that I don't know why I do the things that I do.' She said she felt like there was another person in her pulling strings for fun." His heart beat began to ring in his ears. "At first I really didn't think much of it, but while I was getting ready it kept nagging me. And her facial expression was the same as before." He hesitated. "Well before…you know. It was the same, 'help me,' expression that used to always be on her face. I ignored it last time and I can't do it this time. _I know my wife._ I know she taps her foot when she is annoyed or nervous- the more annoyed, the faster she taps. I know she chews on the inside of her lips when she is worried. I know she crosses her arms and grinds her teeth when she feels threatened. And I know something is wrong with her...I need to be here. I need the money to be able to be here."

"You being here for your family means you need to be alive..._and they need to be alive as well._"

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. "Sal might get rid of me, but he _wouldn't_ touch them."

"You so sure? You think he won't make an example of you to those young punks that he has hired?" Frankie stood. "You've worked for him longer than anyone, but me. Disloyalty means death for you, but humiliating him by going behind his back for years, will mean _death_ for your pretty little life."

Jack turned on his heels and grabbed Frankie's shirt in his fist. "And who's going to be the one pulling that trigger? You? You going to kill my wife? My kids?"

Frankie pulled himself away from Jack and indignantly straightened his shirt. "Of course not... you know how much your family means to me. Hell, I am closer to your kids than my own. But, there are younger versions of us that will be more than willing. They all are just itching for a way to make a name for themselves."

"There is no way that he knows that I am the Red Hood." Jack's voice was defiant. "Jeannie doesn't even know. She doesn't know about any of it. She doesn't even have any idea that I was still working for Sal while I was working at Ace Chemical- she doesn't know I was throwing bodies away in chemical waste. She thinks that Sal fronted us the money for this house. She lives with me for Christ's sake and I have been able to keep her in the dark."

"I hope you're right," Frankie said, grimly. "So what's this big job for the Red Hood?"

"Ace Chemical- the pay roll."

Frankie's jaw dropped. Jack must have been more desperate than he thought. "Are you crazy? That place is crawling with guards and security systems. It's suicide..."

"For someone that doesn't know their way around." Jack cut him off. "I know where every guard is posted. I know every security code. It will be the easiest job I have ever had as the Red Hood."

Frankie shook his head. "I don't know why... but, I got a bad feeling about all this. Bad for _everyone_."

"It is being planned down to the very last detail. Nothing can go wrong."

_Nothing can go wrong._

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>


	9. Chapter 8

**Hello friends! I hope this update finds you well! First, I feel like I need to apologize to you all. I think I set you up for a finale in this chapter and we are not quite there yet. I don't want you to think that I was setting up a "bait and switch"- that is not what I was trying to do at all. I was just starting to build the tension of what is inevitably about to come! There are still a lot of loose ends I have to tie up and things I have to explain so you will fully understand my ending. So again, I'm sorry. I know everyone is antsy to see the Joker- he is coming, but not here yet. So please enjoy until he does show up! As always thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading and reviewing!**

**As a side not- this chapter is rated M for some adult content. There is nothing too descriptive or in bad taste, but I just want to make sure not to offend anyone. So you have been warned.**

**Anonymous Rex- I am glad you are interested in Vince- we will see more of him and he is someone you should keep your eye on. As for Frankie, we won't know his fate until closer to the end. I promise I won't leave any unfinished story lines. Thanks as always.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8-<strong>

"We should go in on the north side." Jack ran his index finger over a map of the Ace Chemical Company that he had obtained while working there. "The side along the river. We can jump the fence, then we will have to go through building 706 to get to the business office. There are no guards in that building, just vats of old chemicals, so it shouldn't be hard. We walk across a few scaffolds that connect to the next building. I know the security code to open the vault, so no alarms. We grab the money, then leave the same way. Simple."

Jack looked up confidently and sat back in his seat, crossing his arms in satisfaction. He wholeheartedly believed in this plan and fully expected his partners in the Red Hood Gang to allow him to take the lead. Over the last eleven years of sporadically working with them he didn't know much more about them, than when he started. He had learned that the taller of the two went by Marty, and the shorter, rounder one went by Rick. He didn't know if those were their real names, and truly he didn't care. They were dangerous and the less they knew about him and vice versa, the better.

"We need to decide when we are going to do this," Marty said, staring down at the map.

"The middle of next month," Jack said, matter-of-factly. "The money comes in on the Friday before payday to give time for checks to be printed. So it will be there on Friday the 15th. We go in that night. Plus, next month they are giving out bonuses to the employees who have been there ten years or longer. I have been hearing my neighbor brag about it for fucking weeks. They are each getting two thousand a piece...that adds up for us."

Marty traded glances with Rick, then nodded. "Yeah, it does. Sounds like a good plan to me."

"Let's meet again earlier that day," Rick spoke up. "But, let's do it at the Bowery Tavern, instead of this shitty place. We will get a few drinks in us and sure things up."

Jack smiled and began to laugh. "Sure...sure. Why not? That Friday it is then. And then, starting from Saturday we will be rich. I can't imagine it. My life is going to be completely changed! Nothing is going to be the same... _not ever again."_

"So Napier, what are you going to do with your share of the money?" Marty asked, settling back in his seat.

"Spend time with my family," Jack answered, with a peaceful expression. "Finally prove myself as a husband and father. Be a help to my wife when our new baby comes. And who knows, maybe in the meantime I will figure out what I want to be when I grow up."

"You're a real boy scout, ain't ya Jack?" Rick heckled with a snort.

"I've been accused of worse," Jack said, as he stood and shook both of their hands. "I will see you two gentlemen next month."

As he left the two men behind him and pushed open the heavy, rusted door of the dock house that the group had met in for years, he felt the gnawing, pang of nostalgia begin to form in his stomach. He had spent more time on the Gotham docks than he cared to remember. He had pointed the business end of his pistol at so many souls in the dank innards of the dock houses, that he had lost track. If the depths ever gave up their dead caused by Jack Napier, a graveyard could be filled. But, what really punched him in the gut was the smell of the evening, salty breeze filling up the streets and the sound of horns from distant deep river boats. It was something that Jack had experienced since he arrived in Gotham so many years ago. Nightly companions that were a comfort in his old, ill-famed neighborhood and a momentary reminder to those that still resided in it, that all of the assholes who lived in the suburbs were missing out.

The Gotham docks flaked off into the city's most notorious neighborhood, the Bowery. It had the reputation as Gotham's worst district. But, this reputation was not given to it by its residents, but rather those who didn't live there. Those who didn't appreciate it for what it was. Those who didn't understand it. It was full of theft, rape, murder, and its greatest claim to fame was being bordered by crime alley- where Thomas and Martha Wayne were killed. But, this had all been embraced by those who called the Bowery home.

While it was not the ideal place to take an evening stroll with the family, it was heaven for the creative. Any type of person could be found within its borders: starving artists, street musicians, petty thieves and prostitutes. The streets were never restful or empty. The constant hustle and bustle of people rushing to their jobs, or back home to their wives after spending the evening in one of the Bowery's many bars, made everything seem to buzz with liveliness. It was a treasure-trove of inspiration.

It looked as though it had been meticulously cut out of the past and placed into the present. It was comprised mostly of century old brownstones that painted a nostalgic picture of long ago and told the stories of past residents. Some of the side streets were still brick and untouched by the hands of progress. While, walking over them, one could imagine themselves in a different time. This was a draw for tourists, who would immediately become disgusted by its misrepresentation in city guides, and leave before they could become a statistic.

This neighborhood was where Jack had hung his hat at the end of the day for years. Though his new home in Crown Point Estates was surrounded by safety and the best schools, he couldn't help but miss the police sirens that woke him at the same time every night. He loved the Bowery. He had never felt so at home anywhere before and there was part of him that wanted to go back. Especially, when he thought of his old apartment. Horrific things had happened inside of its tiny walls, but it was the place that he and Jeannie first made love. The home that they had spent a large portion of their marriage in and where every child was welcomed to the family.

It was home.

His crumbling building was one of the older dwellings in the neighborhood and had once served as a boarding house for Irish immigrants. It was described in vacancy ads as charming and unique, but in reality, it was dark and had a distinct odor of the elderly. Most of the building's residents were over the age of sixty-five and would take most of the day to ascend the stairs. They loved Jack and his youth. The old men wanted to swap war stories and would pull back the collar of their shirts to display war wounds or roll up their sleeves to show off tattoos of naked pinup girls. The old women would pinch his cheeks after he would carry their groceries up the stairs, and the more forward women would pinch other parts of his body causing a shocked blush to cover his cheeks.

The building was owned by an old woman who only went by Mrs. Burkiss. No one knew her first name and everyone felt her too surly to ask. She had lived in the Bowery since she was a child and had inherited her new career as landlord from her late husband. Daily she wore a case worth of blue eye shadow and a sickeningly, sweet smelling perfume that may not have been so offensive had she opted not to apply the entire bottle.

When he had first inquired about the ad for an empty apartment, she was wary of renting the top floor accommodation to a young man like Jack. She preferred older tenants. They were on time with the rent and stayed quiet. Youngsters- as she called anyone under the age of thirty- were loud and undependable, and young men liked to bring in girls. She was trying to run a respectable business, not a whore house- or so she said. As she was about to turn Jack away, he mentioned that he was veteran and had been honorably discharged after being injured. Mrs. Burkiss had a grandson who was killed in war and against her better judgment she took pity on Jack and handed him one of the two keys that opened the warped, bubbling paint covered apartment door at the very top of the stairs.

"One day late with the rent and your ass is gone," she said, with drops of spittle spraying from her yellowed teeth.

Over time she had become very fond of Jack, although he thought otherwise. He was a reminder of her grandson. He was young, handsome, and full of life. Watching him lessened her grief and gave her something to care about. She didn't approve of his lifestyle though. She felt a young man at his age should be concerned with finding a good wife and good mother for his future children. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, she would corner him in the hallway, to lecture him about the dangers of too much alcohol and too many women. Jack did everything possible to avoid her. He learned that if he lifted up while twisting the doorknob that his door would open relatively quietly. He would then stick his head out and make sure the dark stairwell was clear, before walking as softly and carefully as possible. Then and only then, could he escape his building without any old, gnarled voices lecturing him. Every day he felt like a teenager trying to sneak out to a party.

His magnetism to the elderly only increased when he brought home a wife and then subsequent children. No matter how stealth Jeannie and Jack learned to be, they couldn't escape their building without multiple wrinkled, lipstick covered mouths kissing their babies. And even though it was annoying and slowed them down, there was a sweetness to it that would someday be missed.

Many, many things were wrong with Jack's tiny abode. The front door would stick and required two strong hands to open or shut it and if the right technique was not used to open it, it would echo through the entire building. Paint flaked from the walls and the appliances were moody. Sometimes the hot and cold water would trade handles and occasionally come out a rusty brown. But, despite all of the things amiss, Jack found himself at peace there.

He took comfort in the predictability of its blemishes. As a single man, he compensated for the defective stove with take-out and paper plates. And when he acquired a wife, they received working appliances as wedding gifts. In his opinion, the chipped paint added character and the sticky door provided security. But, Jack's favorite flaws were his two windows. One was cut above his kitchen sink and the other in his bedroom and both of their views were only of the brick wall from the adjacent building. It made Jack feel completely at ease. He could see out, but no one could see in. It was the perfect cocoon of safety for his family.

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that what would hurt his loved ones would come from within.

Now as Jack thought back on his family's years in the Bowery, he couldn't help but think back to the day that started it all. The day that he had run head first into a pretty, blond girl with blue eyes on the street that he thought would only be a fond memory.

The day that young, impulsive emotions would get the better of them and change their lives.

* * *

><p>What Jack liked the most about Gotham was the street traffic. One could be completely surrounded, yet completely alone with their own thoughts. As Jack leaned back against the stone wall of Sal Valestra's high rise apartment and sucked in long drags from a dwindling cigarette, he studied the faces of those who passed him. Overdue bills, asshole bosses, adulterous husbands, nagging wives, screaming children... it was all written on the wrinkled foreheads and hard turned frowns on the faces of each person, as they scurried around the busy streets.<p>

It was all so disheartening. Jack could remember being a kid and imagining how fantastic adulthood would be. He would be rich, with three or four houses that were all filled with three or four beautiful women and he would have a different car to drive to each one of them. And he was going to achieve all of this by being a comedian. It seemed easy enough... he was funny. He pulled the best pranks and could incite riots of laughter throughout his classmates. Simple.

But, something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Shitty apartment with pizza boxes and mounds of dirty clothes was not in the plan. Realizing how vastly different his life had turned from the childhood fantasy made Jack feel so depressed that he couldn't even blink. He threw his cigarette on to the street and forced himself to move to his car that was parked several feet up the block. He couldn't stand there a second longer and look into the face of another angry, overworked, discouraged Gothamite. He feared that if he watched them another moment that his pistol might find its way to his mouth. He had no reason to be there. He had delivered Sal home safely...his day of adult babysitting was over.

Just as Jack reached his car, he looked up in time to walk into a memory. She literally walked face first into his chest. She had been looking down, rummaging through her purse as she walked, not paying a bit of mind to anyone else around her. She had obviously just come from a rehearsal, as her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and her face was bare. She hadn't expected to see anyone that she knew...especially him.

"Jeannie?" He said tentatively, as he put his hand on her shoulder. It felt as if she was some kind of mirage that he had dreamt up amongst the desolation of the street.

It had been two months...

Two months since she had been shot...

Two months since he had been fired as her guard...

Two months without her...

...and as she looked up at him, he realized just how much he'd missed her.

"Oh my God, it's you," she said, with an expression of mixed horror and elation. "What are you doin' here?" With every word her voice grew increasingly shrill.

"A...a...I just dropped off Sal." He widened his eyes and shook his head to bring himself to the reality that she was really there. "Why are you just walking the streets?"

"Oh, well, I just got out of rehearsal." She reached up and smoothed a few stray hairs. "My ride ditched me for her boyfriend, so I am just wanderin' around until I decide to go home." She laughed at how pathetic she sounded. "So how ya been?"

"You know me...living the dream." He awkwardly propped his arm up on his car. "So how is Bruce?"

She blushed a bit as she shrugged. "I wouldn't know. We broke up a few weeks ago. On my twenty-first birthday to boot. "

"So I am assuming that the protection he hired for you, ended when he did?" His tone was grotesquely smug and dripped of the, _I told ya so, _that he was trying so hard to suppress.

"Well findin' good protection in this town is a hard job," she said, raising her eyebrows and pulling up the sleeve of her shirt to run her hand over the bright, pink scar on her arm.

He sucked in a sharp breath and uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess I deserve that. I am sorry... if that helps."

"It doesn't." Her voice was stern. "Now, on stage I have to wear a terrible costume to cover up the scar and I can't be seen in public without sleeves."

"Oh come on doll. You're no one in this town until you've been shot," he joked. "Now you have street credit."

She pursed her lips to restrain a smile. "You're an ass. I can see that hasn't changed."

Suddenly a wave of bravery rushed through Jack as he saw the smile threaten to cross her lips. This was his chance. He had missed it months before when he first met her. But, now her she was in front of him, unattached and bordering on flirtatious. Maybe the universe was throwing him a bone? If he was going to take a shot...now was the time to do it.

"Y- Ya know Jeannie, since you are n-now of age and all..." he stuttered, "I was just going to get a drink at this hole-in-the-wall place in my neighborhood. W-would you like to go with me? We could catch up."

Her eyes were so stoic that he was afraid that at any moment she was going to laugh in his face. Call him a fool for thinking that she would ever go anywhere with him after what he had allowed to happen to her. But, much to his surprise, her lips parted, and out came a sweet, "Sure...why not?"

"Really?" It came out with such force, that it sounded like he was about to be sick. "I mean...I mean... that is great. Now, it's no fancy joint."

"That's okay," she said, rounding his car for the passenger seat.

As he heard the door slam behind her, he felt his temples begin to pound. The same feeling of gratefulness to the great, wide unknown that had come over him in a hospital chapel two months earlier filled him once more. "Uhh...thanks again...I guess," he said turning his eyes upward and sliding in the car beside her.

When Jack had said that the place he was taking her was no classy joint, he wasn't kidding. The Bowery Tavern was appalling, yet somehow remained a favorite of locals. The floor felt as though it was going to cave in, a haze of smoke smothered out any hope of taking a deep breath, and the smell of the mixture of bar peanuts, skunky beer, and vomit would be forever permeated into the nostrils of whoever crossed its threshold.

Jeannie stuck to Jack's side like glue as they walked through the bar's heavy doors and she caught sight of the other patrons. Every imaginable person lined its wall and filled nearly every seat. There were salty longshoremen from the nearby docks, prostitutes, and married businessmen flirting with the prostitutes. There were stares from underneath tattered hat brims and whistles from a pool table. No matter where Jeannie looked, all she could see was her inevitable rape and murder.

"You know Jack, I would rather not have my throat slit tonight," she sneered, as she wrapped her arm in his.

He looked over at her and winked. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

He guided her towards a table in the back and pulled her seat out. "They aren't anything to worry about. You're just the first thing they've seen in a long time that doesn't come with a pimp or ankles like tree trunks," he said, motioning for the bartender to bring them two beers as he took his seat across from her.

"If you are plannin' on gettin' me drunk and takin' advantage of me, you better have somethin' stronger than beer." She playfully smiled as she folded her hands on top of the sticky table. "I'm not a cheap drunk."

"My intentions are completely honorable." He smiled. "It is just a coincidence that my apartment is a block away."

As the evening wore on and the drinks freely flowed the two occupants of the most rear table had become warm and loose. What had started with chairs placed firmly across from one another had moved in until the two were huddled closely together, leaning in over the table to hear each other over the growing roar of the bar.

"So what happened with Bruce?" Jack asked hesitantly.

"He found someone else." She looked down and choked her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Her voice was oddly accepting of what had happened in her relationship. No need in fighting with something that couldn't be changed. "It had been goin' on for a long time. I just didn't want to see it."

"Who could he find that is better than you?" He gave her his best smile. One that more than a few women inside the Bowery Tavern had seen before.

"Andrea Beaumont, apparently," she jeered at the sound of the name. "She has red hair... out of a bottle of course. Y'know, she can have him though. He is always gone... always. He keeps the strangest hours and findin' him at night is impossible. I want someone that comes home...that I know where he is. That isn't Bruce Wayne. I just wish I would have realized that sooner."

"I'm sorry," Jack said sympathetically.

"Water under the bridge. Let's talk about somethin' else. Oh I know." She perked up. "Do you remember how I always wanted to go to that French movie theater on 58th Street... the Paris Theater. And you would never go...you would threaten to leave me there by myself. I bet you feel bad about that now."

He shook his head to the contrary and took a drink. "No, I don't. I still feel that way. Fuck the French. I'm not filling my day with that shit."

"Watch it." She sat straight. "My family is French. My grandmother, on my daddy's side didn't speak a lick of English," Her eyes became warm with her memories. "She died when I was only six, but I remember her so well. She was beautiful and always dressed up. Even just goin' down to her mailbox she would fix her hair. She lived a few blocks from us and I would run away to her house at least once a week. Whenever I would be upset because my parents were fightin' or momma was bein' momma ... my grandmother would tell me, '_Je me presse de rire de tout, de peur d'être obligé d'en pleurer.' _It means- I force myself to _laugh_ about everything, for fear of havin' to _cry_ about it."

Jack smiled. "Y'know... you speak French better, than you do English, Miss Southern Belle."

She bit her lip and laid a light punch into his arm. "Stop...it's very wise."

"No, no," he laughed. "You're right. I like that...there is something smart about it. Maybe that is how I should deal with things from now on? _Just laugh about it?_"

She reached up and loosened her hair so that it fell onto her shoulders. "So are you goin' to start comin' to the ballet again?"

Jack grimaced. "For you I would, but it's not really my cup of tea. I mean...dancing? Don't you think it is kind of pointless? Why do you do it anyway?"

She crossed her arms as an annoyed sigh rushed between her teeth. "Why do you breathe?"

"That's stupid," he laughed.

"No, it isn't." Irritation was thick in her voice. "You breathe to stay alive. That is why I dance. It is how I stayed alive in my childhood. It is how I have stayed alive in my adulthood. When I do it, everything bad goes away. It is me."

He sat back and took a long look at her. Usually someone lamenting over a hobby with such conviction would have seemed pathetic to him, but he could tell that every word of it was true. That was her, wrapped up in a few simple sentences.

She sat back and threw her own question at him. "So, why do you kill people, Jack?"

He looked around to see who might have heard her, then leaned in close. "I don't."

"You're a liar. A bad one, too." She raised her eyebrows and smiled. "

"I have only..." He paused and chose his words carefully. "...disposed of people, who deserve it."

"Who decides who deserves it? You? Sal?"

"Sal," he whispered. "Sal, decides."

"Aren't you afraid of God?" Her eyes narrowed.

"God doesn't scare me. Sal Valestra scares me."

She nodded then pushed further. "If you were hired to kill me...would you?"

"Who would hire me to kill you?" he asked, with a playful smile to lighten the mood.

"Answer the question. Would you kill me?"

"I would never hurt you, let alone kill you. I would die trying to keep you safe." His voice was endearing despite the morbidity of their conversation.

Jeannie stared into his green eyes for a moment, then sat straight in her chair and looked around the bar. "This place is startin' to turn my stomach. You said you live around here?"

Jack felt his own stomach flip. "You don't want to go there. It isn't much better."

She grabbed his hand as she stood. "I don't want to go home and I don't want to stay here. So you can either leave me to walk the streets or you can take me home with you... and I don't mean that in the way most of the girls around here do."

"Fair enough," he said, as he stood and threw a few bills onto the table.

* * *

><p>"Wait, until you see my landlady," Jack said as they made the short walk to his building. "She will be waiting on the landing beneath my stairwell to glare at me. She doesn't like me having members of fairer sex in my apartment."<p>

"You bring lots of girls home, huh?" she asked, with a sly smile.

"Oh no never...never." Jack tried to sound as convincing as possible. "Well, maybe never is too strong of a word.

"That's what I thought."

And, _never_ one to disappoint, Mrs. Burkiss stood in the hallway, staring daggers of disapproval through Jack as he led Jeannie up the rickety stairs to his apartment. To her, Jeannie was just one of the many bar flies that Jack kept company with. She had no way of knowing, that having Jeannie in his apartment was a dream come true for Jack...no matter why she was there. All Mrs. Burkiss knew was that over the last couple of months, Jack's apartment had become a revolving door for trash and her patience was wearing thin. She had made up her mind- the moment his rent was late or one of his whores disturbed the peace of her building...he was gone.

Jack kicked a pile of newspapers out of his path as he flipped on a light that blinked and sputtered before relenting to illuminate the room. "Make yourself at home, I guess."

Jeannie entered carefully and forced herself to keep a gracious smile as she tried to ignore the aroma that bachelor dwellings normally acquired. She had never been in a place quite like this and she couldn't imagine actually living in it. The living room and kitchen were packed into one tiny room with an even tinier bedroom and bathroom jutting off between the two. If Jack didn't look so completely comfortable in it, she may have felt sad for him. She walked into the kitchen and leaned over the sink in an attempt to see the outside world through the window. "You ever thought of gettin' a bigger place? Maybe a place with a view?"

He sat down on his worn out, green couch and stretched his arms across the back. "Nah, not for a long time. This place is cheap and it's all I need."

"Don't you feel claustrophobic though? This is like living in a cage."

He laughed and pulled the knot of his tie loose. "When I was in boot camp, I lived in a squad bay with thirty other recruits. Then I was stuck in a barracks room that was a quarter of this size with three roommates...believe me, this is more than enough."

"Point taken," she said, as she winced at the sight of a girl on the street, bent over talking to a man in a car.

"So how is the good ol' Midtown Ballet?" he asked, putting his hands behind his head and propping his feet up on a scratched coffee table.

"Oh, just as chummy and supportive as ever." She turned and began to twirl her hair between her fingers. "I went on a date with another dancer, right after Bruce and I broke up. I thought he would be interestin' and cultured, but he was terribly dull and he was even worse in bed."

Jack's nose wrinkled at the thought of her being with someone else. He had spent the months since he met her convincing himself that nothing more intimate than a kiss ever occurred between her and any man.

"I'm just jokin' Jack." She laughed at him playfully and took a step closer to him, smiling at his displeased expression. "What? You don't think I am a little, shrinkin' violet virgin, do you?"

"I don't think about that, when it comes to you." he said, sternly.

"Like I said before, you're a bad liar," She smiled, standing straight and brushing her hair behind her shoulders. "Of course you have...maybe you still do?"

"I'm not admitting to anything."

"You know, I have slept with a couple of men?" She began to saunter towards him with a cunning smile. "One in New Orleans, who didn't have any idea what he was doin' and Bruce... who was much better. Does that make you angry?"

"It doesn't make me angry, but it isn't something I want to think about." He began to squirm as she approached. No matter how many times he had gone over it in his head, nothing could have prepared him for it really happening. He was far from being a pimply faced teenager, but in that moment he felt as unsure and self-conscious as he did the first time he was fumbling with the snaps of Marybeth's bra under the football field bleachers. He fought the urge to grab Jeannie and hold her to him as she placed her hands on his shoulders and pulled herself on the couch, straddling over him. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe...he could just sit back and wait for whatever was going to come next.

"Bruce told me what you said." She lightly put her hands on his face and looked into his eyes. "When I was in the hospital. He told me the things that you said about me."

"I- I was just caught up in the moment. Seeing you bandaged up like that made me feel so guilty." He put his hands on her shoulders and dug his fingers into her skin.

"No matter why you said it." She put her lips softly against his. "It means more to me than you know. I've really missed you, Jack."

He couldn't restrain himself another moment. He ran his fingers through her hair and pushed her into a hard kiss as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body tightly against his.

She pulled away and rested her forehead against his as she began to unfasten his top shirt button. "Will you sleep with me?"

"Absolutely," he gasped, as he picked her up in his arms and took her to his bedroom.

And, in the warmth and rhythm of her body he found the release that he had been searching for. He made love to her three times that night. It was better than he could have ever imagined. Everything about her was better than he had imagined. She was soft and smooth and she would wrap her arms and legs around him as he moved. And, after they were finished, as he lay next to her pale, naked body, illuminated by the moon light seeping in between the slats of the blinds, he thought over all of the women that he had shared his bed with over the years and realized that no one came close to her.

Never in his life had he wanted to thank someone, so much for something as he did in that moment. It was exactly what he needed. But, just as his gratefulness was about to slip from his mouth, he thought it may be crass or somehow cheapen the experience. Instead, he simply rolled to his side and placed a sweet kiss on her cheek. "What does this mean, Jeannie?"

She sat up, pulling a sheet over her breasts, then allowed it to fall, deciding that it was too late for modesty. "I don't know. I guess it means we've had sex."

"So that's it?" The repose that he had felt moments ago drained away.

"What do you think it should mean?" She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Aren't I just one of many?"

"No...no you're much more." He smiled. "You could give me a chance. I can make you happy."

She looked away from him to the window. "I don't know if I can bring you anything, but heartache."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

She sighed as she thought about the man next to her. He was good to her. He always had been. And it had just been a two months prior that she was thinking of giving him the chance he was now asking for. When she woke up in the hospital and he was nowhere to be found, she had taken that as him letting her go and she shut him out. But, now here he was...again. He had made her feel a way, that no one had before and this was her opportunity to be happy.

She settled back into the bed next to him and kissed him. "Let's give it a try then."

And, that is exactly what they did for the next four months. Every evening he would rush from work back to his Bowery apartment, that had transformed from male dwelling to attempted sophisticated home almost over night. Where old newspapers and pizza boxes once sat, were now books about travel and every inch of the apartment smelled like pricey perfume. And waiting inside for him was a first class, refined girl, who would greet him with a romantic kiss that would lead to after work love making on whatever surface they would fall on first. Afterward, they would drink costly liqueur and smoke imported cigarettes while pitying all of the fools who didn't live life to the fullest like they were. And then, no earlier than nine o'clock, they would pour themselves out on the street to find somewhere for dinner.

Every night that she performed, Jack would hurry the block from Sal's apartment to the Midtown Theater and sit in the front row. He would look around him at the glossy eyes of other men who were lusting for the pretty prima ballerina, and he would sit back in his seat with a smile. She was his...

And always would be.

Then one cloudy, Tuesday afternoon he found a tiny package in his mailbox wrapped in brown paper from his Aunt Helen. He had called her a week earlier and gushed on for an hour about the beautiful woman that he had fallen in love with and wanted to spend his life with. And that he wanted to be old fashioned and ask her father for permission, but he had been bed bound after a stroke the previous month. He promised to bring Jeannie home as soon as possible, so she could meet everyone. Then he ended the conversation by asking her to send him his mother's engagement ring. Though it was small and had lost its shine years ago, it was priceless and was the only ring good enough to be placed on the finger of his future wife.

He had it all planned out. That Saturday night was the closing performance of the Midtown Ballet's current production. He would forgo the last act, that he had seen so many times before and slip away backstage to her dressing room to ensure that he arrived before her. And after he congratulated her on another stunning performance, he would fall to one knee and ask her to be his wife. He had rehearsed his proposal endlessly since the day he had decided that he wanted to marry her. He had found her sitting next to her father's bedside holding his hand and singing him a French lullaby, that her grandmother had sang to him when he was a boy. Her eyes were moist and her face held a tenderness that Jack had never seen before. That was the woman he wanted to spend his life with. That was the woman he wanted to mother his children. That was the woman that he wanted at his side.

Now the moment was before him as the door swung open and she bounded inside with heaving shoulders and a tiny, sheen of sweat on her forehead. "What are you doin' back here already? Oh never mind... it doesn't matter," She crossed the room in a few large steps and pulled him into a kiss.

He pulled away from her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You were wonderful, as always."

"Thank you." She smiled and stepped back and began to remove her costume. "Jack, I hope you don't mind too much. Some of us wanted to go out tonight to celebrate."

He stuck a clammy hand in his pocket and began to roll the diamond ring between his fingers. "Of course I don't mind, but I had something I wanted to talk to you about."

She pulled on a loose robe and sat at her mirror. "Well, I have somethin' I need to talk to you about too." She looked at his reflection as she wiped away the heavy, stage makeup from her face. "Y'see a couple of weeks ago a castin' director from the Chicago Ballet was in our audience and he was very impressed by me." She turned in her seat to face him. "He offered me a role in their spring ballet. It's a very big deal; it's not often that dancers are handpicked. Normally there are auditions and formalities... it really is a huge compliment. So I accepted- never in my life will I have another opportunity like this."

He felt like someone had just punched him in the jaw. At first he couldn't even string a thought together well enough to form a word, but just as suddenly as the shock came, it was replaced with seething anger. "So you're just leaving then? When?"

She braced herself for the argument that would ensue with her next words. "In three days."

"In three fucking days?" he shouted. "You're moving half way across the country in three days and you're just now telling me?"

"I was tryin' to pick the right time." She began to tap her foot.

"I thought the Gotham Ballet was the goal?"

"It still is," she squeaked. "Chicago is a step up the ladder."

"And what does that mean for us?"

She stood and raised her hands slightly off her hips in an ambivalent manner. "I don't know. We can take some time for ourselves."

"You need time for yourself? You told me you love me." He felt like their months together were nothing more than a time filler for her until the next thing came along.

"I do love you." Her words were desperate.

"Yeah...Yeah... you have a real shitty way of showing it." His ears rang as his blood pressure rose. "We talked about a future together."

She crossed her arms and straightened her back. "No, we never talked about a future together! _You_ talked about a future together!" Her voice was rough and accusatory. "If you loved me, then you would know that _this_ is not a life I want or would be happy with. I thought it was, but now that it is happening, I _know_ it isn't. I don't want to be married! I don't want to be a mother! I don't want to be ordinary!"

His eyes widened at her absurdity. "We are all just ordinary! Get it through your fucking head, Jeannie. This will all end one day! Then you're going to look around yourself and be alone. You have someone that loves, that will be good to you. You wanted me until you got too close... now you're just going to run away like a coward."

"Find someone else, Jack," she sighed. "There are lots of women who also want the life that you want and any of them would be lucky to have you. I will get my things out of your apartment tomorrow and I will leave my key."

"It's that simple?" he said, as his face twisted into disgust.

"Take care of yourself," she said, with completely dry eyes.

He didn't bother to return the pleasantry as he slammed out her dressing room door and stalked out of the building. It started as a twinge in the pit of his stomach as he thought about the meaninglessness of the months that he had spent with her. Then it traveled into his chest as he remembered how his heart flipped the first time she said, I love you. Finally it arrived in his mouth as he went over their ridiculous breakup. His lips turned up into a grin and from his mouth came a _laugh_.

_Je me presse de rire de tout, de peur d'être obligé d'en pleurer._

_I force myself to laugh about everything, for fear of having to cry about it..._


	10. Chapter 9

**Hello everyone! I hope you are all fantastic! Thank you as always for reading and reviewing! I wanted to use this chapter to show you different sides of these characters. Please enjoy!**

**Chapter 9-**

* * *

><p><em>Tap...Tap...Tap...Tap...<em>

The sound of Jeannie's bouncing right foot was the only sound on the upper floor of the Chicago Ballet Studio. She bit her nails, played with her hair, and drummed her fingers along the arm of the large, leather chair she sat in. Anything to keep her from jumping out of her skin. With each passing second, her heart rate rose and her mind raced.

What could he possibly want with her?

Johannes Sabbert was not someone that the dancers liked to encounter. He was the creative and casting director for the Chicago Ballet, and he could hire and fire you within the same breath. He was a debonair man in his early forties. Very distinguished and accomplished, but ruthless. He was only seen when a dancer signed their contract before being spit out to the lead ballet coach, Prudence Callaway. Then, Johannes would disappear, like some mythological creature, only to reaper on opening night. Although his presence was not visible, the dancers always felt his eyes on them. It was like trying to sleep while there was a spider in the room- there was no relaxing or letting down their guard. His office on the top floor was like a chamber of horrors. It was avoided at all costs and if one was called there then their time with the Chicago Ballet was over.

And that is exactly what happened to Jeannie...

She was standing in the shower when it happened. She was so exhausted that she could barely keep her eyes open. Sometime after she had rinsed the last sud of soap from her body she had closed her eyes and had almost fallen asleep on her feet. She'd been standing there so long that the skin on the tips of her fingers had begun to shrivel. "Jeannie, is that you in there?" She barely heard the tiny voice coming from the next shower stall, and at first shrugged it off as something coming from her fatigued mind.

"Jeannie? You okay?"

Her eyes opened tentatively and squinted as she took a step back out of the hot stream of water. She felt uneasy and disoriented, as if she had woken from a long nap. She recognized the meek voice calling out to her to be from Paige Monroe, a classically pretty woman that she was sharing a small apartment with, that overlooked the lake and always smelled of takeout curry and vacuum cleaning. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. After a few empty gargles, her voice finally shoved its way from her lungs, and she called out shakily, "Uhh...yeah...yeah I'm fine."

"You've been in here forever," Paige spoke over the sudden burst of water from her shower head. "Johannes is looking for you."

Jeannie's heart sank at the words. She quickly reached forward and snapped the water off then pressed her forehead against the cool, marble wall. She felt the sting of tears begin to rim her eyes as she tried to come up with any reason...any reason at all... that he could want to see her other than the obvious. But, no matter how hard she tried, nothing surfaced.

It didn't make any sense though. Yes, she had been a little off her game lately, but it was just the adjustment. She had also been sick from the moment she left Gotham, but she was certain it would soon pass, and be nothing to worry about... at least nothing to be cut over. Dancers that were cut were slackers. Nothing could be more untrue of Jeannie Dupree. She was not one to be out done, showed up or over shined. She always felt that she was in competition and had something to prove.

And it was that call to battle that brought her to the amount pain that she was filling in her body now. The moment she walked through the glass doors of the Chicago Ballet Studio, she knew that she had jumped head first into a war. At the Midtown Ballet, she was in terms of skill, head and shoulders above the rest. She hated to admit it, but Jack had been right- it was just a hobby for most of the dancers in Gotham. Something for bored, Ivy League girls to do on their summer vacations. But, in Chicago the competition was stiff. Everyone was just as serious and talented as she was- some even more. Most of these girls had a grit that Jeannie lacked. They had struggled throughout their lives, growing up amongst crime in inner city apartments, fighting for their place. Not in antebellum mansions getting private dance lessons. They appreciated it more. They realized that they were no more special than the one standing next to them.

"Everyone is exchangeable." Those were Johannes' exact words when she signed her contract, then he followed with, "Don't get too comfortable...most don't make it."

So Jeannie worked. She put every bit of energy and passion and fire into every step she took. She wanted it and this was her chance... a once in a lifetime chance. She spent extra time in the studio, she watched her competition, she pushed herself to the very limits. Her muscles were screaming in pain and every movement took considerable effort. Large, black bruises formed on her ankles and the tendons in her thighs and calves felt as if they were going to snap with her next step. She was exhausted...completely and fully exhausted.

_Tap...Tap... Tap.._

There was a large, mahogany desk in front of her. It would have been impressive had it not been so cluttered. Papers and heavy folders were scattered everywhere. Names of each of the dancers written at the top of each paper with audition scores and lists of strengths and weaknesses. She wondered what was written about her, what flaws had been pointed out. It would have been easy to forget that Johannes was merely a man and not some heartless machine had there not been pictures of his family placed amongst the rubble. There were two pictures of a little boy and a little girl held lovingly in their father's embrace and a picture of a lovely woman with black hair, smiling in the sunlight. It was humanizing and temporarily calming.

It made her think of the rows of mirrors in the basement of the building that the dancers sat at to fix their hair and makeup, and the very last one against the wall that belonged to her. Few mementos made the trip from Gotham along with her: a pressed flower given to her by her high school best friend, a key chain the held the keys to her first car, a worthless teddy bear that Jack won for her at the Bonus Brother's Carnival and Amusement Park, and four pictures.

The pictures were taped to the bottom edge of the mirror. Their corners were worn and a few stray dabbles of stage makeup spotted their colors. But, each of them were loved, admired, and occasionally cried over during pangs of homesickness. There was one of her and her father when she was around six. He sat on the front steps of their home in New Orleans, and she sat on his knee with her head lazily laid back on his shoulder. Then there was a picture of Jack when he was barely eighteen years old. It was a standard picture of all Marines taken before boot camp graduation with American and Marine Corps flags draped in the background. He wore his dress blue uniform and his cheek bones stuck out from thirteen weeks of chow hall grub and rigorous physical training. His lips were pulled into a tight line of false bravery and his eyes were fixed into a, "what the hell did I sign up for?" stare. He looked like a child- not old enough to buy a drink, but old enough to be sent to his death. He looked... afraid.

Next there was a picture of Jack and two of his boot camp buddies at their first duty station in Hawaii, before being deployed. The three men were in a beach bar with stupid Hawaiian shirts on, Jack's being green and blue with little pink palm trees across the chest, with aviator sunglasses and bright, flower leis around their necks. Jack had both arms draped around the shoulders of two big breasted, Navy nurses and a disgustingly young, horny smile stretched across his face. Even though the two women putting their hands on him would make a surge of jealousy rush through her, she loved the way he looked. So happy, so carefree- she wished she had known him back then. He probably didn't walk with a limp when he became overly tired, back then. And, she would wager to bet that back then he wouldn't wake up in a cold sweat, or startle at the slightest unwarned touch. She had found the pictures from boot camp and Hawaii stuffed in a box at the back of his closet. Somehow they found their way into her bags as she packed for Chicago. She wanted to remember him happy, like in the picture with the nurses, instead of angry and heartbroken.

The picture that gave her the most grief though was taken of her a few weeks after they started dating at a charity gala. He was decked out in a tux and her in an evening gown. It was taken while they were both off guard. He was leaned in close, whispering something in her ear and she was in the beginnings of a huge laugh. He looked handsome, and she looked _happy_. It was a reminder of everything she gave up. At times she wanted to rip it down and tear it into pieces. She felt like the girl in the picture was just a caricature, mocking her for her choices. _Stupid, stupid girl._

And now as she was certain that she was about to be dismissed from the fleeting _hobby_ that was so much more important than the handsome man in the pictures, she realized that she had nothing to go back to. If this didn't work out, all of the bridges behind her were burnt and she would do exactly what Jack had said she would do. Look around herself and be alone.

_Tap...Tap...Tap... Crack..._

The sound of the door opening made Jeannie jump to her feet so hard that she almost tripped into the desk in front of her. She wobbled back and forth and tightly clasped her clammy hands behind her back as she watched Johannes shuffle through the door. As he looked up to her and a bright smile crossed his face, she thought to herself, "_he doesn't look so scary." _In fact he looked as pleasant and as approachable as he did the night that he offered her a spot in his ballet company. There was no way he was going to let her go...no way.

"I'm sorry, Jeannie," he said, as he crossed the room. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"Oh... no...no... Mr. Sabbert," Jeannie began unstably then her eyes widened and her words began to spew forth with such urgency that she sounded as if she were about to scream. "I am sorry if I haven't been meetin' your expectations. I can work harder. I can put in more hours. Whatever you need me to do..."

"Sit...sit...sit," he chirped as he put his hand up to stop her then stepped in front of her and rested against his desk. "That is not why you are here."

She hesitated for a moment then felt her shoulders drop as she followed his instructions. There was a very big part of her that wanted to shout at him for calling her up to his office without any hint to why. He must have known that going to see him was like being led to the gallows. Why would he purposely put one of his dancers through that stress? Maybe he was an idiot; maybe just an asshole. But, just as those words were about to fall out of her mouth, she crossed her arms and bit down on her bottom lip. "Then why am I here?"

He pursed his lips then looked at her under his brow. "You have been with us for six weeks?"

"Yes."

"You show real promise. Naturally talented, effortless, perfect lines." He raised his eyebrows. "Impressive"

"Thank you." Jeannie gave her most gracious smile.

He then crossed his arms and lowered his voice. "Abigail has fractured her ankle. She will be out for the rest of the season."

She began to rub her palms over the arms of the chair. Abigail was the Prima Ballerina and the title character in the upcoming performance that they were practicing so tirelessly for. If she was out, that meant someone was in. Someone had to fill that spot. "How terrible for Abigail. I hate to hear that," She did her best to hide the hint of excitement that tickled at the end of each word.

"Oh, bullshit," Johannes laughed. "I can see it in your eyes. We can't put on a ballet called "Giselle", without a Giselle. Who better to take that role, than you?"

Her bottom jaw fell forward as she straightened her back. "A-are you offerin' me the role?"

"No." His voice was sharp and to the point. "I'm not."

_Idiot or asshole? _

_Asshole..._

"Giselle is a very challenging part," he continued, "she requires someone with follow through and heart. I feel like, since coming here, you act almost bored with the part you have been given."

She looked down at her bruised ankles and felt her cheeks become hot with anger. "I have been workin' very hard. I'm not at all bored."

"You're not completing moves. Your turns are sloppy. Know it or not, you have become complacent.

"I...I..I'm sorry." She kept her eyes turned down. "I've just been on my heels lately. I have been fightin' the flu since comin' here. I feel like I have given my all, but if you think I am not up to standard then I will work harder."

He began to nod. "You will, because as I said, I am not offering you Giselle. _You are Giselle_. You have no option."

She slowly began to lift her eyes to him. "Really? But... but you just said..."

"I think you are bored, because you are better. I expect more of you, so I am challenging you," he spoke over her. "I want to see a new Jeannie Dupree. I want you to wash away whatever is holding you back. All of those pictures you keep on your mirror- get rid of them. Take them home, throw them away, burn them for all I care. That was your old life. This is your new." He then paused and took a heavy breath. "I and everyone else in the company will be putting our faith in you...don't disappoint."

She released a deeply held breath before standing. "I won't. I promise I won't."

"Thank you, Miss Dupree," Johannes said, as he motioned to the door.

Jeannie held her composure until she heard the door click behind her. A squeal of excitement rushed out of her as she slapped her hand over her mouth and began to jog down the hallway. There had never been a happier moment in her life. All of the work, all of the sacrifice- it finally paid off. And in the moment of complete joy, she realized there was no one she wanted talk to more than Jack.

Since meeting him, Jack had been her go to guy to celebrate the triumphs and grieve the tragedies with. Yes, she would be able to share the news with the friends she had made in Chicago, but there would be deep-seated jealousy behind every congratulation.

_He picked her... she's new and he picked her... her rich daddy must have paid him off...she must be sleeping her way to the top. _

Her roommate, Paige, would possibly be happy for her. She knew how hard Jeannie worked. But, there was no one in this world that would have been prouder of her, than Jack...or at least that's how he would have felt in the past. She was sure he hated her now. Wished her nothing, but bad things. But, she couldn't help, but wonder where he was, who he was with, what he was doing? And above all...was he happy?

As she bounced into the dressing room, she found it empty with the exception of Paige sitting at her mirror. Her expression was one of worry, as she looked up at Jeannie. "Are you leaving us?"

Jeannie walked down the row of mirrors about to burst with exhilaration. "No...no." She squared her shoulders and hoped for the best. "Abigail is out. He put me in her spot."

Paige's brow pushed downward as she turned in her seat. "You've been here a few weeks?"

"That's right," Jeannie said, as she stood staring down at the pictures taped to her mirror.

"Well congratulations, I guess." Paige dredged up her sweetest voice. She was minimally happy for Jeannie, but couldn't help, but ask herself, why it wasn't her.

"It's okay." Jeannie popped the first picture from its bonds. "You can be mad at me. I would be mad at me too. I really didn't have a choice, though. He said I was Giselle and that I didn't have an option. I think if I had said no, he would have dismissed me," She shrugged and bemusedly shook her head. "Why would I say no anyway?"

"I wouldn't say no either. And, I'm not mad at you." Paige's tone was convincing. "I just think you are stupid."

Jeannie's head snapped in Paige's direction. "Yeah... why so?"

Paige slapped her hands down atop her knees "Look at you. Here you are taking down pictures of this guy you love and cry over at night- don't try to deny it, I know you do. You talk about him all the time and always say how great he is. You are giving him up." She looked around the stark dressing room. "For this?"

"You're here, too."

"When I signed on, Johannes told me the same thing that I am sure he told you, 'That was your old life, this is your new,' so I broke up with my boyfriend- who was very good to me. Quit my job, sold everything I had and immersed myself in this place. I was certain, this was a stepping stone. But, look at me, I'm in my late twenties, my career is almost over, and I'm all alone. I'm here because it is all I have. It's not all you have."

As Jeannie took down the last photo and carefully placed it in a neat pile with the rest, she gave herself a long look in the mirror. "You don't know me very well Paige...and that's not your fault. But, I don't make friends easily." She looked down and began to chew on the inside of her lip. "Since you think I'm stupid and you're my roommate, I guess you should know more about me. _This is all I have_. It's solid and it's here and it's now." She sheepishly turned to Paige. "My mother is a lunatic... a complete lunatic. She has Bipolar disorder and Schizophrenia and none of it showed up before she had me. When I was three, she tried to kill herself because she thought that she heard voices tellin' her to kill me, and she wanted to stop herself before she went through with it. She spent two years in a mental institution, and then when she came home she completely iced me out and has treated me like shit ever since. I watched my father spend his good years cryin' over her and allowin' her to suck the life out of him. She destroyed everything she touched- her friends, my dad...me." She paused to re-center herself. "I keep people out because I don't want to destroy the people I love. I love Jack and I want him to be happy and it isn't goin' to happen with me. I know this is a lot to unload on you, but you are the one person here I am closest to and I need you to understand."

Paige's face smoothed in sympathy. "Just because your mother is that way, doesn't mean you will be."

"But, what if I am? It's not worth it. I'm fine right here. And, I'm not stupid. I don't think this will last forever. When I am done, I will teach or maybe be like Johannes and run a studio, but I'm not takin' other people down with me. Especially my family... especially Jack"

Paige cocked her head to the side then began to smile. She could see that the cold exterior that her roommate displayed to the world was a protective shell for both herself and the people around her. Jeannie didn't need a pep talk, but rather a supportive ear and for someone to act as if everything was normal. "You know everyone is going to hate you, right?"

Jeannie returned an appreciative grin and chuckled out, "Who cares? I'm the star."

Paige turned back to her mirror and began to pack up for the evening. "That you are princess...lets go home."

Jeannie nodded then picked up the stack of pictures and took a nostalgic look at one of the happier times in her life. A time that was over...

_Where is he? Who is he with? What is he doing? And above all...is he happy?_

* * *

><p>The crack of the stock of Jack's pistol connecting with a skull echoed through the dock house. It was like watching a car wreck. No matter how disgusting or disturbing, you couldn't take your eyes away. This fury in Jack was new. Something that was unleashed since Jeannie's departure. The weeks since she had gone, were bad...very bad. Jack had become angry and violent. It all started immediately after having his heart handed to him, in the backstage of the Midtown Ballet. He promptly found his way to the Bowery Tavern, drank so much that he could barely stand, then broke a pool cue over a drunks head. Then he began chomping at the bit for any gory job he could get his hands on. Jack was usually not one to relish those parts of his job, or draw them out like a cat playing with its prey before killing it. He was never one to shy away from sending a message by breaking an arm or leg...occasionally a jaw. But, when it came to actually killing someone, he was usually more humane. He would be fast and clean, not like this night. Not beating up and taunting of things to come.<p>

"I haven't decided what I am going to do with you yet," Jack said, circling his victim. "Maybe I will put a bullet cleanly in your head, maybe in your heart... or maybe I will give ya a pair of cement shoes and dump you off the side of the dock while you're still alive...decisions...decisions."

The poor, unfortunate soul who had fallen into Jack's clutches this night was named David, an up and coming hitman for a rival mob that was ever encroaching on Sal Valestra's territory. Sal dealt with all vices: drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling. He profited from inflaming man's lowest instincts, and he knew he would be losing business if there was another means that the same services could be provided cheaper. He needed to send a message and David was the best way to do it. He was a favorite of the boss and very young. A high school drop just cusping on eighteen. Targeting him would show no mercy. And Sal knew exactly how to bring forth Jack's best performance. "He is the one who shot that Dupree girl...you remember her right?" Sal was not ignorant of Jack and Jeannie's past and, he had noticed that his favorite trigger man had been like a lion pacing in front of bars since her departure. Picking the right words was like opening the cage door. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't- either way, it got the job done.

"You think you are just going to come into this part of town and take our business?" Jack shouted as he once again made a blow with his pistol across David's face.

A low guttural groan followed by spitting out a mouth full of blood was all David could muster at the moment. Young, naïve stupidity brought him to his present state. Earlier that night he felt on top of the world, as if nothing could touch him. He should have noticed the slow moving car sooner, but it didn't even perk his interest until he was being dragged inside of it and being stripped of two pistols and a knife. Inexperience made him an easy target for two seasoned killers like Jack and Frankie.

Jack laid a well-placed kick into the young man's stomach then bent down in front of him and grabbed a hand full of his hair, then slowly lifted his head off the ground. "You answer me when I ask you a question."

"I don't even know who you are." It was barely audible and seemed very honest, but for some reason, it enraged Jack.

Jack slammed David's head down on the concrete floor and began to dig into his back pocket for his wallet. He opened it up and dug out a folded up, creased picture. A copy of the same one that used to hang from Jeannie's mirror, taken of them a few weeks into their ill-fated relationship. He opened it up and shoved it into David's line of vision. "You want to know who I am? You remember this girl?" Jack had convinced himself that the real culprit of Jeannie's unceremonious departure was fear. Fear caused by the asshole lying on the floor in front of him. Maybe she would come back if he was gone. He may have been grasping at straws, but it was the only hope of keeping what little sanity he had left. Shit had been piled on Jack's back since childhood, but losing Jeannie was the snapping point.

"I've never seen her before," David said through gasping breaths.

Jack gritted his teeth then barked out, "Let me remind you. You took a shot at her on Seventh Street... lucky for you, you're a shitty shot. Believe me this would be much worse, had you hit what you were aiming for."

David stared up at Jack and could see the rage behind his eyes. He had no doubt that his capture was not only insane, but had every intention on killing him... and more than likely, in a very painful way. "A...a...look man. I don't take jobs that deal with women...you got the wrong guy." It all came out in one pleading gasp.

"I bet you got a girl in your back pocket too," Jack hissed, as he reached for David's wallet and began to thumb through it, throwing cash, little pieces of paper, and one lone condom to the ground. "Well, look at that," he said, as he pulled out what looked like a yearbook photo from a leather fold. He turned it quickly to Frankie who stood in a darkened corner, then began inspecting the little picture of a strawberry blond cheerleader with dimples, and a tiny gap between her front teeth. "She's cute...real cute. I bet her name is Brittany or Amy...something sweet like that. You know, Frankie over there is a real ladies man... maybe now that she is a single gal he will give her a call." He then tossed the picture over his shoulder and stuck the barrel of his pistol against David's temple. "Or better yet, since I had to watch the girl in my wallet lying on the ground bleeding, maybe you should too. She doesn't have a very big smile, maybe I will fix that by carving her ear to ear and letting you watch."

"Come on Jack," Frankie said through a disgusted sneer. He didn't like this side of Jack. He thought he knew him. Jack, at his heart was a good guy. Frankie never thought he would be capable of being so sadistic and blatantly evil. It was worrisome. In their line of business, tragedy often struck. If being broken up with by his girlfriend, would cause this kind of transformation...what would happen if something particularly heinous ever occurred.

_What was sleeping inside of Jack Napier?_

Jack glanced back to Frankie then stood straight. "Nah, no need to add insult to injury. Who knows what her future has in store for her, but I can promise you, that your days of finger bangin' Miss Rah Rah Rah... are over." He then took one final kick squarely into David's face then pointed his pistol at David's forehead.

David placed a trembling hand in front of his face. "P-please...w-when you kill me, just let my family know... the address is on my driver's license. I-I just don't want my Ma to wonder what happened to me."

The side of Jack's mouth pulled into a half smile. Was this guy kidding? He was about to have a bullet placed in his skull and he wanted Jack to let his _Ma_ know what happened. "Fuck your Ma," Jack said as he pulled the trigger. Immediately the dock house filled with the sickening mixture of the metallic smell of blood and the salty air. Jack took a moment to allow the ringing echo of his fired pistol subside, then he bent down and picked up the tossed aside picture of the cheerleader and David's driver's license and stuck them in his pocket.

Frankie peaked out the door to make sure the coast was clear. A gunshot would hardly be heard amongst the constant clanking and banging of cranes loading cargo onto ships, but a body being dragged to the water was far less inconspicuous. He walked forward and silently put his hands under the arms of David's still twitching body, and began to pull him towards the door.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jack snapped.

"What do you think? We can't just leave him here." Frankie's voice was full of disgust.

"Sal wanted us to send a message; this poor fucker wanted us to let his family know what happened. We can kill two birds with one stone."

"What does that mean?" Frankie dropped the body and backed up.

"We have his address. Let's just dump the body on his doorstep," Jack laughed. "We can stick a cigarette in his mouth for comic relief."

Frankie shook his head and felt his stomach twist. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You use to have some scruples, but now you're like some vicious animal. I may have stood back and watched you torture this guy, but I'm not going to let you pour salt in the wound of innocent people. He paid his debt to us."

A cynical smirk stretched across Jack's mouth as he took a quick glance at his bloodied hands. "Let me ask ya something Frankie...is it lonely up on your pedestal? I mean, since when did you become some compass of morality?"

"You know what I always liked about you, Jack.? Despite your choice of career path, you kept your humanity." He stopped and his eyes narrowed. "She was just a girl. The world is filled with girls just like her. Don't let her turn you into some kind of monster."

Jack clenched his jaw then grabbed a handful of Frankie's shirt. "Because we are friends, I will let that one slide. BUT, if you ever bring her up again I will knock your goddamn teeth out." He then pushed Frankie backwards with on swift shove. "Clean this up...do whatever the hell you want with it. I'll be in the car."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want you to get your hands dirty," Frankie scoffed as he righted himself.

"Don't push me," Jack shouted over his shoulder as he slammed his way out of the dock house.

When Jack had guessed that the girl in the picture was named something like Brittany or Amy, he had guessed wrong. While waiting for Frankie, he took the picture out and got a better look at. On the back the words, "_David, I love you. Heather,_" were scribbled in big, bubbly letters in pink ink. Jack seldom felt guilt after a hit, and that night as he was beating a man's face in and then blowing his brains out, Jack didn't feel a smidgen of it. But, as he looked at the curls framing the pretty girls face, the remorse of his actions began to curdle in his stomach. This girl was no more than sixteen years old and undoubtedly she would be crying into her pillow when her boyfriend, that she cared enough about to confess her innocent, teenage love to on the back of a yearbook photo, didn't call her that night...or the next. She would think that she had been used and thus would begin a distrust that would cause strife in every relationship she would ever have. There would be stories about what an asshole David was. Jack had a girl like that once...and plenty of stories circulating about his antics. He thought of throwing the picture away, but then he decided to hold on to it. He would tuck it away in the back of his wallet and keep it as a reminder of just what he was capable of.

The force he had used was unnecessary and cruel. It wasn't him... whatever he was becoming was not him. David was just a kid.

As always, Frankie didn't take long to dispose of the body. It was weighed down and sunk to the bottom in minutes. Within a week the currents, crabs, and fish would tear it apart and there would be nothing left, but the memory of some punk kid that went missing. His family would contact the police when he wasn't heard from within a few days and eventually, after no clues to his whereabouts turned up, his case would be closed and he would just be another poor soul who was eaten by Gotham City.

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><p>Jack pushed the door of his apartment open and was greeted with nothing but darkness. The only illumination was the blinking, red light of his answering machine signaling that most likely his Aunt had called to inquire, once again, about his engagement and when the wedding would be. Those calls had become far too frequent. So far he had been a coward, and avoided the awkward conversation. He didn't want to hear the sympathy in her voice or the following pep talk of, "there's plenty of fish in the sea."<p>

He hit the rhythmically, blinking button, then stood back with crossed arms. The first two messages were from bill collectors. "Mr. Napier, your blah blah blah bill is past due." Then as the third one clicked on, Jack's shoulders fell as he heard a woman's voice. It wasn't his Aunts aging, shaky voice, but rather that of his sister. Always condescending...always with an upswing of annoyance at the end of each word.

"_Jack, since you are refusing to answer or return any of our Aunt's calls, I'm assuming that you are either dead or no longer in a state of loving bliss, and too much of a little girl to own up to it. I can only hope you're not hanging by the neck from your shower rod. Surely, someone in your building would be smelling you by now. But, knowing you, you are probably living in a cesspool where the smell of a dead body wouldn't even be noticed._

_By the way, it's me, Molly...your sister, just in case you have forgotten. I love you ...please call me."_

Jack rolled his eyes as a small laugh escaped his lips. Molly was the equivalent of pulling out, "the big guns," when it came to his Aunt Helen. If she wasn't getting the response she wanted, she would call in Molly. Molly had somehow gotten stuck in Jack's head as his quivering, kid sister, peaking around his shoulder at their mother's casket. At times he found it startling to think that not only had she become an adult, but also a wife and mother. She had a way with Jack. She could get anything she wanted from him. It was her manipulative hold on him that made him avoid her at almost any cost. But, somewhere in the, _I'm better than you, _connotation of his annoying little sister's voice, he found a familiarity that he suddenly needed more than anything. And against his better judgment, he began to feverishly search through the pile of papers that surrounded his phone for the tiny slip that held her number.

After three rings he fought the urge to slam down to phone. After the fourth ring he felt relief that maybe she wasn't home. And as the fifth and final ring began to jingle in his ear, to his immediate terror, he heard the phone connect.

"Hello." Her voice was irritated and there was the loud cry of a baby in the background that was probably woken by the phone.

"It's me," he said in barely a whisper. "I just thought you should know that I'm not dead."

"You do realize its midnight?"

"Yeah and I'm sorry. Did I wake the baby?"

"Yes, you did, and if you had any idea how hard she is to get to bed, you would realize that I could kill you right now."

"Again, I'm sorry. I will just say goodnight then."

"No...no..." There was a pause and then a little sigh. "She is up now anyway. So how you been, Jack?"

"Uhh...okay I guess," he lied.

"How is the girl? Jeannie? Jenny?"

"Jeannie," Jack answered.

"Have you two set a date yet? Aunt Helen says she comes from money so I assume there will probably be a big wedding?"

Jack remained silent and seriously considered hanging up the phone.

"Jack?" His silence told her everything she needed to know. "What happened?"

The mixture of guilt from his actions earlier that night and his built up grief, swelled inside of him. He didn't even have a chance to attempt to choke it back. Tears began to fall and his voice cracked like a teenager going through puberty. "She left...she left me..."

There was another pause, as if she were trying to find something supportive to say, but she could only come up with, "I'm sorry." Then her protective instincts for her big brother kicked in. "She just left? Just like that?"

"I didn't even get a chance to ask," he managed to croak out. "She told me she was moving to Chicago and that was it."

"Chicago? What's in Chicago?"

Jack smiled through his tears. "Don't laugh, but she is a ballerina and she was signed to a ballet company there."

"She is a what? You were seriously going to marry this girl?"

He covered his face with his free hand and tried to rein his emotions back in. "I loved her, Molly."

Her own voice became shaky at the sound of her brother so heartbroken. He had always been a rock. Her rock. "I know you did."

"I feel like I'm going crazy. Even though she is gone, she is everywhere. I can't even walk into my apartment without having to remind myself that she isn't going to be here. I have to get out of this city."

"Go home."

He smirked. "That is worse than here. Can you imagine me having to explain this to all of the church ladies that Helen has undoubtedly spread the news of my upcoming engagement to? No thank you."

"I'll meet you there. We haven't seen each other since you left for boot camp. It will give you a chance to meet your niece."

"Won't your husband mind?"

She laughed. "Oh please...there are advantages to being married to someone who has more money than they do sense."

"Okay then," he said without really thinking to what he was agreeing to.

"Okay then," she repeated.

He took the phone away from his ear and covered the receiver with his hand.

_"I really must be going crazy."_

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>


	11. Chapter 10

**Hello everyone! I hope all of you are very well! This chapter has been split into two pieces. It originally started out as one long- and I mean long- chapter. I decided to spare you fine people a thirty page chapter and make it a bit more manageable! The next chapter will be up in a few days! Please enjoy and as always thank you for reading and especially reviewing!**

**Chapter 10-**

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><p>Early morning practices were nothing new to Jeannie, but on this cold, windy morning, she had a difficult time forcing herself out of her warm bed. And, now as she stood at the stretch bar, limbering up her stiff muscles, with nothing on, but a pair of tights and a black leotard she couldn't get climbing back under the sheets out of her mind. Mornings like this in Gotham were far less intensive. If Jack had no where he had to be, they would stay in bed most of the morning, talking about the future as he pressed sweet kisses against her bare skin. She shook her head to clear her mind of any memories of the past and put her foot atop the bar and stretched her body above it. Memories had no place in her life this morning and had to be put aside. Johannes would be making an unusual appearance during this early morning rehearsal. He wanted to see how the production was progressing since recasting Giselle.<p>

She couldn't disappoint.

Most dancers were limbering up; some had curled up with jackets under their heads to catch a few fleeting moments of sleep. But, as the double doors leading to the dance room swung open with an echoing clank everyone sprung to their feet and huddled to the center of the dance floor. The lead dance coach, Prudence, strolled to the opposite wall with Johannes on her arm. The two, despite their pleasant expressions, were a foreboding sight. They both knew it, and somewhat sadistically enjoyed the fear that their presence brought forth.

Neither of them spoke as they sat in two metal, folding chairs. After a few more silent moments and both of them taking their time to get comfortable, Prudence's hoarse, authoritative voice shouted out, "The first dance of the morning we will be Albrecht and Giselle's reunion dance from Act II. Jeannie and Samuel, please stay... the rest of you, Johannes has graciously provided food for you upstairs. Please wait there until you are called. You are dismissed."

Jeannie and her partner Samuel shuffled together as the other dancers hurried out amidst sighs of relief and nervous giggles. Jeannie gave Samuel a reassuring nod as he placed his hands on her waist and waited for their cue. She gulped down a few calming breaths as she felt the tension in Samuel's hands, as he grasped her just a little too tightly. His performance directly impacted hers. He needed to get it together.

After a few silent, critiquing glances an anticipating smile crossed Johannes' face, "From the top."

Jeannie and Samuel were the perfect pair. They looked well put together, with similar movements and style. They matched up well. Usually their dances together went without a hitch. Almost too easy. That was until Samuel, felt the stare of Johannes' critical eye. His hands became rough and shaky, grabbing her with too much force and several times almost causing her to topple over. All which could have been forgiven, but during a crucial lift, he misplaced his hands and failed to correct with enough haste. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt her weight no longer supported and then her body suddenly hurtling toward the floor. Luckily, just as she was about to connect with the hardwood, she was snatched up and placed back on her feet.

"Stop!" Johannes shouted, as he angrily stood and stalked across the room.

"First position, Jeannie." His words were stern as he stepped in front of her. She winced as he forcefully put his hands on her waist, then turned to Samuel. "You see...you see how I am holding her. This is what you look like... like you are trying to squeeze her in two," Johannes spat out in one long sentence. "This is Giselle. Your lover, your soul mate. You watched her descend into madness because of your lies and deception, only to kill herself with your sword. And now, her forgiving spirit is back to protect you. How should you put your hands on her? Like your lover? Like the woman who has forgiven you? Or like a block of wood?" He tightened his grip and dug his fingers into her skin before releasing her.

"I am just nervous, Mr. Sabbert." Samuel's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You're nervous because of me? What happens when there are hundreds of people watching you on opening night? Are you going to throw Jeannie to the ground? Break her body in two? End her career because you are... nervous?"

"No, of course not, sir."

"Toughen up or your understudy will be taking your place." Johannes then turned to Jeannie and gave her a long, pointed stare. "And you... Bravo! That is what I have been looking for. Even with his catcher-mitt hands, you managed to deliver something beautiful."

"Thank you." Jeannie managed a tiny smile as she swallowed down a ball nausea that suddenly formed at the back of her throat.

"What's the matter, dear? You are looking green."

"Falling has just thrown me off. And...and I can't seem to shake this damn flu." Her skin became flushed and hot.

"Let's get some food in you and then we will see how you are feeling, yes?"

Food was the last thing Jeannie wanted, but who was she to refuse? The extreme stress written all over Samuel's face, coupled with the memories of the feeling of terror she had while sitting in Johannes' office was enough for her to know that she didn't want to be on his bad side. He was pleased with her and she planned on doing anything to keep him that way.

Her twisting stomach seemed to calm as she met the cool air outside the dance room and began to ascend the stairs to the second floor, where the other dancers were busy picking over the plates of food. She felt almost normal. But, as soon as she entered the second floor hallway and the smallest wave of scent coming from runny, scrambled eggs entered her nostrils, she immediately began to gag and desperately clasped her hand over her mouth as she shoved into the nearest bathroom.

Johannes was not far behind, paying no attention to the ladies room sign, as he slammed through the door just as she bent over a toilet and began to heave. "What is this, Jeannie? Prudence says you have to excuse yourself to vomit almost every rehearsal. Are you truly sick? Nervous?"

She wiped her mouth as she remained bent forward. "I am sure it is just the flu...maybe with some nerves mixed in. Nothin' to worry about and certainly nothin' that will affect my ability to work."

"No matter." He crossed his arms. "I want you to go to the doctor today and then you will rest until you are well. Opening night is a month away. You must be at full strength by then. Weak dancers have accidents..._accidents that could cause broken bones and cost you a promising career_."

"Just don't replace me," she pleaded, as she felt her stomach begin to tighten again and she quickly held her hair from her face as she began to throw up once more.

"Let me know what the doctor says," Johannes said, with a curled nose as he pivoted on his heels leaving her alone.

She gasped for air and placed her hands over her clammy face. Something as insignificant as a stomach flu was not going to destroy this for her. She would follow Johannes' demands and then be back on her feet in no time. She would be fine...

She had to be...

* * *

><p>The all-encompassing smell of greasy, fried food and the constant jingling from the bell hanging above the door at Lucky's Diner, let Jack know that he was indeed home. He had hoped for a relaxing three day vacation... in theory, at least. Seeing his sister. Meeting his niece. <em>Maybe<em> reuniting with a select few friends. Nothing too taxing or time consuming. He strategically timed his arrival to be mid-afternoon...everyone would be working then...right? But, in his little hometown, the word of newcomers or outsiders traveled faster than light. His presence did not go unnoticed for long. Within a few hours of pulling into his driveway, an old football teammate stopped by...then another... and another. Then Aunt Helen confessed, that she may have let it slip that he was coming for a visit during her last prayer meeting- or more correctly, gossip club. Somewhere between being greeted back into the tribe with chants of, _"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes... I thought you were dead... Jack, you ol' son of a bitch, how are ya?"_ and the never ending firm handshakes and slaps on the back, someone suggested that the old gang be summoned together once again and trek down to the joint that they use to invade after each game. And now, here Jack was sitting at the same corner table that he did as a teenager surrounded by the others who once ran the high school along his side. He kept himself entertained between memories by reading over the carvings made with butter knives in the wall. It was like a shitty museum dedicated to the teenage history of the town. _Call XXX-XXXX for a good time...AJ hearts SR... DH gives good head... Class of whatever rules...Napier owes Topsy a shot at his sister..._

He perked up as Berta, a plump, middle aged waitress with bleached blonde hair, slid his usual one pound cheeseburger and fries in front of him. She had worked there since she was fifteen years old, and had witnessed the passage into adulthood of more of the town's youth than she cared to admit. Jack's mother had once been a waitress at Lucky's, and Berta loved to tell stories about throwing a baby shower for her, and subsequently changing his diapers. "I sure am glad to see you here. I heard you almost died." She put one fat hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows like a mother scolding a child.

Jack's brow creased, then he put his hand over his heart and balled it into a fist. "Well, during the rough times... when I thought of giving up the ghost...I would just think of you Berta, and it pulled me through."

Her hand dropped and a small snort escaped her nose as she turned to walk away. "You always were a smart ass."

"Just remember, I love you," He shouted back to her. "Hey...save me a piece of that cake up on the counter...two pieces... please." He turned back to his friends as a big smile crossed his lips. "It's good to be home."

Summitville, Pennsylvania was considered a suburb of Pittsburgh. Although it was merely thirty minutes away from the Steel City, it might as well have been on the other side of the planet. People there were different. Most of the men in the town worked at a local steel mill and the women were homemakers. The backbone of the town was built on three distinctive properties: Jesus, apple pie, and gossip...mostly gossip. It was the summation of Small Town, USA. From every storefront hung American flags and the hometown heroes were the members of the high school football team- a football team that Jack was happy to say, he helped lead to, two consecutive state championships his junior and senior year as the Quarterback and team Captain. Around every corner there was a memory and a story to go along with it. Of course there was Lucky's Diner- the only good place to eat if you were a broke teenager who could flirt his way to a free meal. An old movie theater called The Rowbee, that boasted wood backed chairs and a balcony that Jack spent almost every Saturday night hiding in while making out with Marybeth Burkett. It was seven dollars a ticket, but he looked at it as money well spent... besides it's not like his meals cost anything. Then there was the white, Baptist church that his mother's funeral was held in. Despite it being a sore spot, he was forced into the building every Sunday and made to endure the testimonies of little, blue haired ladies who had all organized enough bake sales and bible-bingo tournaments to ensure their spots in heaven.

"How can you eat so much?" Tina, the former head cheerleader, scoffed in disgust as she shoved a fork full of salad in her mouth.

"Why are you such a bitch, Tina?" Jack replied, meeting her gaze.

It was a duet the head cheerleader and captain of the football team had been performing since they were sixteen that stemmed from an incident that took place during a two week, summer breakup between Jack and Marybeth. Tina would ask a question and he would then reply with, "Why are you such a bitch?" No one really knew the details, but it involved a locker room shower, a bra clasp, and a chipped tooth- no one ever talked about it.

"That's so touching," Chris Tops, who went by Topsy, said as he wiped a fake tear from his eye. "If we had our lettermen jackets on and you girls were wearing your cheerleading uniforms...it would be just like old times."

"No," Jack said with a full mouth, "We would just look like a bunch of twenty something assholes."

"You already look like that." Marybeth scowled from across the table. She felt like she had been lured there under false pretenses. Jack's name had been left out of the invitation. Had she any idea that he was going to be there, she would have declined. She had spent most of the reminiscing portion of the evening in silence, starring daggers into him. Had he any doubt about how she felt for him...it was gone when they made first eye contact. "So how is the city treating you?" Her tone was almost taunting. As if she were pushing him to concede that the small town life that he had given up wasn't all that bad after all.

He swallowed his mouth full of food then nonchalantly shrugged. "Oh you, know...bright lights, big city. The place is never still, never quiet."

"And what is it that you do exactly? Taxi cab driver? Garbage man?" She jabbed.

He couldn't help, but chuckle at her intensity. This was classic Marybeth. She was a preacher's daughter and raised to keep her mouth clean and her legs crossed. She was sweet, gentle, and in total control of her temper. It took a lot for her to become angry. He could only remember hearing her raise her voice a few times during their four year relationship. But, when she did finally reach her limit and her anger would begin to boil to the surface, there was no holding it back. Forgiving with a Christian heart or wiping the slate clean was out of the question. If you were on her shit list...you stayed there.

He thought for a moment about her question and then, without blinking an eye, the truth poured out of him. "I'm in the mob...I'm a hitman." He knew his companions would laugh it off. _Just Napier, telling another joke...that guy can't be serious about anything. _The words sounded like a joke even to himself. But, it felt good to actually say it out loud. He had never really done that before. Yes, it had been discussed with Frankie and Jeannie, but never with someone who didn't already know.

Marybeth rolled her eyes and did her best to keep a stern expression. "Yeah, right Jack. You couldn't hurt a fly."

He looked down and slowly began to nod. "Yeah... yeah... you got me. I just work at the Gotham Docks."

Her lips pulled into a satisfied grin. "So prestigious."

"So you think living here and working at the steel mill would be such a step up the ladder?" He slung back.

"Hey...Hey..." Topsy sat forward and put his hands up. This conversation was becoming far too serious for his liking. His eyes then glimmered with excitement as another memory popped into his mind. "You remember when we all bought those colorful suits for prom." He looked to his side where, the fastest Wide Receiver, Brent Huckelson sat. "Ummm...Brent you wore a red one, I wore a green one, and Jack...you wore a...a..a purple one...you wore purple." He said, pointing a finger at Jack. "Man, Principle Kilby was pissed."

Jack laughed. "Yeah, I still have it...it's in the back of my closet. Try explaining that one to a girlfriend that likes to snoop."

"I know it made for great prom pictures," Marybeth spoke up. "It went well with my four hundred dollar dress."

"Who spends that much on something they are going to wear once?" Jack more questioned the other people sitting around him, than Marybeth.

She crossed her arms and sucked in her cheeks as she abruptly stood. "Well, on that note, I think I will be leaving."

As he watched her gather her things he felt like all eyes had suddenly turned to him to fix the situation. Like they always did. Anytime poor, sweet Marybeth would become upset, it was Jack's job to fix it. Only this time...it really was. He owed her... and everyone knew it. "Umm... I'll walk you to your car."

"Do what you like," she called out over her shoulder.

She kept a healthy distance ahead of him as she huffed through the door and began to cross the empty street to the parking lot. But, as she reached her car, she turned to allow him to catch up. "You jerk!" She slammed both of her hands into his chest and pushed him backwards. "You freaking jerk!" Tears began to stream down her face as she pushed him again.

Had she not been so upset, it would have been funny. In a battle of physical strength, she didn't stand a chance against him. They always were an odd looking couple. Jack was a big man. He topped out at 6'5" and in high school had earned an impressive physic from participating on almost every sports team. She barely reached 5' and never weighed over ninety pounds. Her blows felt no more than tiny slaps.

He took her abuse for a few moments then grabbed both of her shoulders and held her at arm's length. "Why are you so angry with me? You haven't even spoken to me in six years."

"Exactly!" She indignantly pulled away from his grip and brushed her straight, black hair from her face. "After four years together... after I gave up everything that I held precious to you... you breakup with me in a letter like a coward! Then you almost get killed and don't even bother to let anyone know if you are okay. And, now you show back up and expect everything to be fine...like nothing ever happened!"

"No...I don't expect everything to be fine." He cautiously edged towards her. "Marybeth, I didn't even want to see you."

Her face twisted into disbelief. "Oh... you didn't want to see me! You think that makes things better?"

He realized how cavalier his words were as soon as they came out of his mouth. "That's not what I meant. I didn't want to see you because I knew being around me would just make you...well... like this."

She gritted her teeth together tighter with his every word and brashly wiped the tear trails from her cheeks. "I hate you." The tone of her voice did not indicate otherwise. It was hard and full of disgust.

And for some odd reason the malice coming from the girl that he had left behind so many years before shook him to the core...

It broke his heart...

"And you have every right to hate me."

"You're damn right I do." She crossed her arms tightly across her chest and rocked from one foot to the other, like an animal preparing to attack. "Who breaks up with someone in a letter?"

"Sadly, me..." He placed a careful hand on her shoulder. At least Jeannie had the nerve to break up with him to his face. He copped out of their future with a two line note that simply read, _I'm sorry. I can't do this_. "I know this sounds like a used up line, but it wasn't you...it was me. Right before boot camp graduation, the Drill Instructors were getting word that there were hundreds of people dying a day in the war. I knew I was going to be assigned to a ground unit and I knew I was going to die. I didn't want to put you through that."

It was a partially true answer. There was a big part of him that wanted to sow his wild oats, rather than facing the inevitable domestication that remaining with her surely would lead to. But... there was another part of him that didn't want to put her through the pain of losing a loved one. She had never lost anyone... not even a grandparent. She loved Jack. He loved her. And, if he could spare her that pain, then he would. Even if it meant breaking her heart.

"You really thought that I cared so little for you, that your death would only upset me if you were my boyfriend?" She suddenly felt the slightest twinge of sympathy. How sad it must be to think your life so frivolous.

He looked at the ground and backed away. "I don't know. I was eighteen years old. I was afraid."

They had always planned to get married after graduating high school. They knew they were too young, but that is how things were done in their backwards town. He would come home from boot camp, they would get married in a ceremony officiated by her father, she would wait diligently for his four year military contract to expire, then they would settle in an unremarkable house where he would trudge off every day to the steel mill, and she would tie up her apron strings and chase their two children around. That's the way it had been planned from the first kiss. That's the way everyone did it. His abrupt ending to their relationship, then decision to move to Gotham, had thrown the delicate balance of small town life off kilter. It set her life off kilter.

The tight line that her lips had pulled into began to soften as she folded her hands in front of her. "I know you were afraid." She gave a light-hearted shrug, "Who wouldn't be?"

"For what it's worth... I'm sorry."

She felt like a thousand pounds was lifted off of her shoulders. Everything she wanted to say and kept bottled up inside was finally gone. "Jack... I'm glad to see you are in one piece."

He took a thoughtful look at her and for the first time, in a long time, he didn't think of Jeannie. Instead he thought about seeing Marybeth for the first time the summer after she blossomed from girl to woman. The way that she would intertwine her fingers in his, every time there was the slightest mention of either of his parents. The special smile she saved just for him whenever they would trade glances during football games. The countless amount of times he would test his luck and move his hand up her thigh and under her cheerleading skirt, just to have it smacked away. And then the time she finally gave in to him, underneath the bleachers, the night before he left for boot camp. "Let me make it up to you." His voice was unsteady. "I will only be here a few days and Molly will be here tomorrow, but maybe we could make the time to see each other again? Just us."

Her body stiffened as she thought about his proposal. But, then the giddy girl inside of her got the better of rational thought. What would be the harm? He would be gone again soon...no real damage could be done. "A...a...yeah. I think we can do that. You can get my number from your Aunt. She and I keep up with each other," She then worked up the nerve to impishly close the distance between them and swiftly placed a cautious kiss upon his cheek. "Don't disappoint me this time."

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><p>Jack spent most of the next morning sitting on the front step of the house that he called home for so many years. He rubbed the stubble that had grown over his chin as he thought about the little town that he left for the big city of Gotham. He wondered if he had made the right choice, when he decided not to come back. He would undoubtedly have a normal life here. Never would his boss instruct him to break someone's knee caps with a baseball bat to send a message. Never would he have to worry that every choice he made would somehow lead him to his grave. It would be so simple. So easy.<p>

His high school friend's jubilant voices kept replaying in his mind. They accepted him back into the fold without any hesitation. Marybeth's visceral reaction to his presence, as overly dramatic at it may have been, was unexpectedly palliative to him. He convinced himself that he would have been happier if no one even knew he was home, but with every blow of her hands, he was validated that he was indeed cared for and missed. Of course, his Aunt was overly joyed by his homecoming, but she didn't show it. When he first arrived home, she simply met him at the side, kitchen door and began beating the wrinkles out of his shirt, then placed her fingers on either side of his mouth and pressed his cheeks in while remarking on how skinny he had become. Under reacting was her way of showing her love. He could only imagine how Molly would react. She would probably immediately begin to pick a fight with him. Slap him across the face for being a selfish jerk. Anything was possible when it came to his sister.

His friend's voices were not the only ones playing in his ears. There was also one that he wished would go away. That of a teenage boy with a puberty stricken, squeaky voice calling out to his father as he was being abandoned.

"_You'll be back, right?"_

"_You'll be back, won't ya dad?"_

The words kept echoing in Jack's head as he looked into the driveway that he was quite literally dumped in. Everything around him was bringing him back to that day. The uniformed brick walls of his Aunt's house, the green shutters, the well maintained hedges, the fiery smell from the steel mill that all the locals simply got used to. It sent a shiver down his spine that made his toes curl in his shoes.

"_Dad...Dad... when are ya coming back?" _

He remembered running down the driveway trying to catch his father before he could pull away. Just as his father was about to get in his car, Jack grabbed his arm and spun him around. "You gotta answer me." It was a brave move for a kid that had been used as a punching bag. In the six week time span between his mother being put in the ground, to being pawned off to his Aunt, Jack had suffered two black eyes, a broken nose, and a dislocated shoulder... those were just the injuries that warranted a hospital visit. It was after the last Emergency Room trip, that child services was contacted and the fear of prosecution made Joseph Napier realize that he needed to give up his children.

"Ah... I'll be back some time." Joseph put a hand on his son's shoulder and nudged him backwards. It was almost as if he didn't want Jack getting too close. "Helen will look after you until then."

"But... but," Jack sputtered, as he looked down at his feet. He lost his mother earlier that summer, but he had lost his father as well. After his wife's death, Joseph deteriorated into an unrecognizable shell of the loving husband and father he once was. Walking his way through life in a haze of alcohol. Beating his children to a pulp. Angry and looking for someone to take it out on. An animal.

Jack had already grieved for his father, but now he would have to do it again. Despite the pain he suffered at his father's hands, the thought of being left without him was almost unbearable. He held out hope that at any time Joseph might snap out of it. Be a dad again. But, there was no hope of that now. Jack and Molly were orphans.

Joseph sighed then looked away from his son. "Look this isn't easy for me either, but I think you will be happier with Helen. She and your mom were sisters... they were kinda alike."

"I-I don't u-understand," Jack's stuttered out as his voice threatened to crumble.

Joseph hated the stutter that Jack picked up after his mother died. He never had it before, but now it shined through every time Jack became nervous or upset. To Joseph, it was just another reminder of how much he lacked as a parent and how desperately his children needed their mother. He pushed Jack backwards, "W-what b-boy... you g-going to c-cry?" he mocked.

Jack's hands balled into fists and he carefully said through gritted teeth, "No, sir."

"That's right. I didn't raise a damn sissy." Joseph opened his car door, took a quick glance at Jack from beneath the brim of his hat. "Take care of your sister...okay..." then disappeared inside.

There wasn't a goodbye, see ya later, or good luck to ya...

Not even a break light to indicate the slightest second thought...

He was just gone...

Jack and Molly both received Christmas cards with five dollar bills and no return addresses the first couple of years they lived with their Aunt, but after that there was nothing. No signs of life what so ever. There were always rumors though. Someone once told his Aunt that Joseph moved to California, married a widow, and had more children. _Unlikely._ Then there was the rumor that Joseph moved to Gotham and found himself in Blackgate Penitentiary for Grand Larceny. _More Probable. _Then came the mother of all rumors. Joseph stumbled out of a Pittsburgh bar, passed out on a train track and was cut in half by a passing train. _Sure bet._ This was the rumor when retold to Jeannie, made her laugh, and made Jack fall completely in love with her. This was the rumor that Jack secretly hoped was true.

He could have investigated more thoroughly the Blackgate Penitentiary rumor. But what if it wasn't some made up gossip? What if he and his father were neighbors in the same city? Jack constantly worried that if it were true, and he someday ran into a newly freed Joseph Napier, that he would invite his father down to the Gotham Docks to show him exactly what he did for a living. It was a fantasy and fear that Jack replayed countless times in his head.

The sound of Molly's car pulling up snapped Jack back to reality. He stood quickly as the urge to run for his life...back in the house...maybe back to Gotham... surged through him. _Be a man...this is just your kid sister._

As she stepped out of the car, the sight of her gave Jack an immediate gut check and almost brought him to his knees. It was like seeing a ghost. She looked exactly like their mother...right down to her perfectly curled red hair framing her face and matching, painted red lips. She dressed like her. Moved like her. It was terrifying.

Jack had fooled himself into thinking that Molly had remained the teenager that he left behind. She was scrawny... pretty... but all knees and elbows- much to Jack's peace of mind. But now, his baby sister was a woman. Not only a woman, but a wife and mother.

They both stared at each other like strangers for a few moments. Neither of them knew what the next step would be. He could see the anger seething behind Molly's alabaster face as she took a good look at him. He knew she wanted to lash out for his absence. He braced himself for it as he squared his shoulders and allowed his arms to fall to his side in a display of surrender. The next move would be hers. And if her temper matched their mother's, like her looks, Jack would be in for the fight of his life.

But, instead...

There were no angry obscenities...

No lashing out in wrath...

Just a shaky hand being brought to her mouth to cover a sob as her face crumbled. She imagined his body being ripped apart by shrapnel and bullets. Him lying in agony as the life seeped from his wounds. She closed him out of her emotions. He was dead in her mind. But now, seeing him alive and relatively well was unbelievably... relieving.

And she couldn't get to him fast enough.

She ran up the side walk, leaving her sleeping baby in the car, and slammed her body against his as she wrapped her arms around him. She held on as tightly as she could... it was as though she worried that if she let him go he would disappear. There was so much she wanted to say, but all she could choke out was a trembling...

"I've missed you so much..."

* * *

><p><strong>This was a super fun chapter to write! Jack's hometown is heavily based on my own and I have borrowed some of the more popular rumors that once circled around the high school I attended. This chapter was kind of a trip down memory lane, I suppose! I, like Jack, hate traveling home, but always end up enjoying myself once I get there. I hope you have enjoyed! Thanks for reading! And please remember to look for my next chapter that should be up in a few days!<strong>


	12. Chapter 11

**So here is the second half to the last chapter! Thanks to all of you have read and reviewed thus far! I hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 11-**

* * *

><p>When Jack was three, cusping on four, his parents sat him down on their living room sofa to break the news of an upcoming sibling. From that moment, to the day his mother went into labor, Jack hoped for a brother. He would share his toys. Teach his little brother how to fry ants with a magnifying glass. His chest was broad with pride as his father led him to the maternity ward, where he found his mother sitting in a rocking chair, delicately embracing a baby bundled in a yellow receiving blanket. He sprinted to his mother's side and anxiously boosted himself onto the arm of the chair, but instead of catching a glimpse of a bouncing baby boy, he was met with, horror of horrors, a head full of wispy red curls, tied up in a pink bow.<p>

A sister.

A sister that he pushed out of her high chair. A sister that he would use as a target for his imaginary bullets when he played soldier. A sister that would lie on her stomach outside his closed door to spy on him through the crack between the door and the floor. A sister that would cost him a week's worth of detention for punching the bully that wouldn't stop pulling her hair. A sister that would stand on a box in front of the stove so she could reach the burners to cook dinner after their mother died. A sister whose place he would take at the brutal hands of their father.

A sister that would become the other half to his whole.

And as he stood by her side, watching her carefully lay her own sleeping baby, with red ringlets, down amongst carefully arranged pillows on an empty bed, he realized how much he was starved for her company.

After they both quietly left the baby to sleep, and found their way to the living room, Jack blurted out. "You look just like our mom."

She mournfully nodded, then looked into his green eyes, honest and deep, and rimmed with sleepless nights. "And you look just like dad."

Jack's arms fell limply to his side. It was a fact that was not lost on him- no matter how much he wanted to deny it. He knew that if he ever wanted to see Joseph Napier, he didn't have to look further than a mirror. At times he would startle at his own reflection when passing the glass of a storefront. His height, the line of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders- it all belonged to his father. There were times that the face looking back at him in the mirror was almost taunting. Mocking of what he could become. _As you are, once was I... As I am, one day you will be..._

He never liked what he saw.

An awkward stillness fell between them. It was as if the realization that they were actually in the same space hit them both at the same time. There was not hiding what they were actually feeling behind playful banter in a letter or phone call. They could actually see each other's expressions and witness small, telling gestures. It was cryptic and unnerving to them both. Almost as if they knew the pressure and tension was mounting and could erupt at any time.

Molly tried to fill the silence with small talk. First about Summitville. "Not much has changed, y'know. It still looks exactly the same. Hell, the people are all the same. I think you and I are the only ones who have ever left this map dot... other than Dad, of course." Her words were chirping out so fast that Jack could barely understand her. Then she abruptly changed topics to her new home in North Carolina. "There's not much there. It's just full of retirees with too much money. They all own shops that sell overpriced chotchkies, and walk around barefoot." Her words trailed off at the end. She knew she wasn't holding his attention.

Another long pause...

…

The constant buzzing about of their Aunt was too distracting for Jack to keep his thoughts on Molly. For some odd reason, her movements were making his skin crawl. It reminded him of her frenetic energy the day he left for boot camp. Her worry that he was going to be killed kept her churning and wafting in random directions as she tried to hide her tear filled eyes. Now, he sat almost slack jawed as he watched her whip from the kitchen to the laundry room. Then to her bedroom. Then to the room that baby Ava slept in. Then finally back to the kitchen.

Having both of her _children_ home was exciting to Helen. Since Molly left home, she had no one to look after. That was a first for Helen. She never married or had children of her own, but she practically raised her much younger sister, Anna- Jack and Molly's mother. Then she took on her mother who had severe dementia and would stand on Helen's front porch every night at dusk to sing the Battle Hymn of the Republic. And, after Anna's life was choked out far too young by cancer, Helen gladly took on her niece and nephew. She worried for them, loved them, and scolded them, as if they were her own. She was their _mother_ and no one could have been prouder of them.

"How's Gotham?" Molly asked in a pitchy, almost irritable tone.

Jack's head snapped in her direction as if he had forgotten she was there. He swallowed hard, then repositioned himself in his chair. "What?" He asked roughly as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Jack," Molly said slowly. "How is Gotham?"

"Oh...oh..." He smiled grimly as his thoughts focused in on their conversation. "It's uneventful." His words caught in his throat. It was a lie, but one that he hoped his sister would gloss over.

She quizzically raised one eyebrow, then rested her chin on the back of her hand. Jack was a bad, bad liar. His eyes were his tell... he couldn't keep them still when he lied. And as she watched them dart from her, to Helen, to the floor, she knew he was hiding something. Maybe to spare her feelings or worry. But, being the kind of woman she was...she wasn't going to leave it alone. "So you have found a nice apartment?"

His tongue clicked against his teeth as he made a small grunt of indifference. "I wouldn't call it nice, but it works. The building is full of eccentric dinosaurs...real characters. It's actually very entertaining. I live on the top floor, so just leaving my apartment is an adventure."

"So how is that job my husband got for you? Sal Valestra is aaa." She started to smile. "Really something, huh? I've only met him once, but he certainly made an impression."

Jack's eyes lit up with recognition. He had all but forgotten that it was Molly's husband who put him in contact with Salvatore Valestra. Damned him to the underbelly of Gotham City. "It's going... It's going." He looked over his shoulder to make sure Helen was nowhere in sight, or that at least she hadn't slowed down enough to hear them. "When your husband worked for Sal... what exactly did he do?"

Her brow knit together as she looked off, searching for the answer. "I'm not exactly sure. You replaced him... so whatever you do, I suppose."

"He hasn't told you about it?"

She shrugged. "Why would he? It was just a side job to make extra money when he was becoming an accountant."

"And how did you meet him?"

"He briefly lived in Pittsburgh..." She shook her head with agitation. "Jack...what is it, with all of these questions about my husband and Sal?"

Jack was baffled by her ignorance of her husband's former career. Yes, it was at first something that he kept from Jeannie, but eventually she figured it out. Was Molly playing stupid? Afraid of the truth? "Ummm it's nothing... nothing... just curious."

Again there was a pause...

...Then Jack's stomach knotted as he watched the sides of Molly's mouth begin to quiver upwards into the artful smile that she always used to put him up to doing something that he didn't want to do. A smile that had gotten him into trouble more than once. She kept her eyes turned down as she began to trace the pattern in the fabric of the chair with her fingers. Her voice became soft and sweet, almost musical and her famous words of manipulation came spilling forward, "So Jack... how much do you love me?"

* * *

><p><em>How much do you love me? <em>

That was the question that she used to put him up to dumping one of her three simultaneous boyfriends on her behalf. And to always guilt him into sliding her extra money from grass mowing jobs so she wouldn't have to work and could spend her summers lounging by her best friend's pool. She knew it was deceitful to play off her brothers sympathies, but he owed her. He owed her for all the times he put frogs in her bed or told her she was adopted. Then there was the time he soaped the shower floor so she would fall when she stepped in.

So when she used it to ask him to accompany her on a visit to their childhood home, it was just another instance of him atoning for the many childhood injustices older brothers put younger sisters through. It wasn't her fault he was putty in her hands.

The home that they shared with their parents was a meager four streets over from their Aunt Helen's, but neither of them had visited it since their father dropped them off. It was an unspoken pact between them. _I will pretend it isn't there if you do. _It had long since been condemned by the city and fallen into disrepair. There was nothing of worth still there, but for some nagging reason, Molly couldn't get it out of her mind. She wanted to go back...just to see it...just to see that it was still in fact there. But, she could never work up the courage to go by herself. She needed someone with her. Someone who could understand how she felt. She needed Jack.

As Molly scurried from one side of the yard to the other, shaking her head at the state of her former home and commenting on every nook and cranny, Jack stood stoic, propped up against his car with his arms crossed so tightly across his chest that his hands were going numb. Of course, he agreed to Molly's request, as he always did, but his face hadn't softened from the disgusted grimace it had taken on from the moment the suggestion was made. "You've seen it... let's go."

"Don't be silly," she huffed while trying to recall to memory exactly what shade of blue the shutters used to be.

"They should have torn this pile of shit down years ago." Jack pocketed both his hands and walked to her side.

"You can't be serious..."

The closer he got to the house, the antsier to leave he became. "Of course I am serious. This place is a cesspool of vermin... I'm sure all the neighbors complain."

The house was once, one of the nicer on the block. It was kept in pristine condition... a chipped piece of paint or fallen leaf in a gutter would never be safe for too long. His mother grew rose bushes that lined the front stoop and the lawn was always evenly cut. The outside was nothing compared to the inside. Dust was nonexistent and dirty baseboards were unheard of. Along with the aesthetic perfection, the family that lived inside of it was just as perfect. Loving and supportive.

Now, the planks of lumber that once made up the sturdy walls were beginning to warp and fall away. The white paint had turned to gray and the rose bushes that were so lovingly looked after had shriveled and died. The old tire swing the hung from the front yard oak tree had since fallen to the ground and rolled to the base of the tree, that in itself looked as if it were about to topple over.

"I wonder if we could go inside," Molly mumbled to herself. "Mom always kept an extra key in a notch above the door."

"No," Jack said, sharply. "Not unless you want the top floor to cave in."

"But, there might be old family pictures in there or something that belonged to mom."

"Do you really think Helen would have left anything of importance behind?" Jack wasn't sure, but it seemed like the right thing to say to ease Molly's worried mind.

"I... I guess you're right," she said uncertainly.

A sudden memory made Jack's shoulders loosen up and a hint of a smile appear on his face. "Hey, you remember when Dad eulogized that old stray dog that we found?"

Molly rested her head against Jack's shoulder and sighed inwardly. "Yeah, we had an actual funeral for that mutt. Mom found an old box to put it in and you made a headstone from a rock."

"And you picked flowers to put on its grave."

Molly stood straight and cleared her throat as if to prepare herself for whatever fallout may come from her next statement. "You know he could still be out there...right?"

Jack gritted his teeth as he pivoted away from her. "He's not Molly...he's dead."

"You don't know that."

"I do... he was passed out..."

"Yes...Yes..." She rolled her eyes. "Passed out on a train tack and was cut in half. That is one rumor... _one_."

"It's the _one_ that's true."

"Don't you ever wonder if maybe... just maybe... he is in Gotham? Maybe he is at Blackgate or living somewhere in the city?" Her voice was venomous and accusatory. As though she was blaming Jack for their father's unknown whereabouts.

"And what if he is? What am I supposed to do?" he shouted. "Invite him over for a beer? Drink up Pops! Thanks for fucking up my nose and shoulder... and oh yeah... my life!"

"He wasn't always a bad father!" Her viciousness rose to match his.

He stepped back completely aghast at how easily she had forgotten the tortures that life with their father brought. "I guess that is easy to say if you had someone stepping up to take the beatings for you."

"No one ever asked you to." She looked away sheepishly and began to knead her hands together.

"I didn't mean that." He backed down immediately. "I just...dammit," he wavered. "I just want him to be dead. I want him to be gone. He was so weak! It's disgusting. Mom was the glue that held him together. As soon as she was gone he turned into a monster. No feeling. No humanity..." He stopped short, as if suddenly his words hit him full on. The face that looked back at him from the mirror...the taunting face of his father... it wasn't his father... it was him. He tried so hard to keep himself from decaying into Joseph, that when it actually happened, he didn't even notice it. Jeannie was the glue that held him together. Jeannie was what kept him sane. The moment she was no longer there to keep his cracks from shining through, he turned into a barbarous husk of himself.

No feeling. No humanity.

Molly's face fell to sadness as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. "What _really_ happened with the girl?"

Jack kicked at the grass then croaked out, "She killed me. She literally killed me." At the end of every word there was an abrasive drawl that made his voice sound haggard and old. "She is one of those people that makes every eye go to her when she walks in a room. She takes up every bit of space. From the moment I met her she was in me. In my veins. And now...now that she is gone. I don't know what to do. It's like I can't breathe."

Molly placed a supportive hand on her brother's face. "Don't turn into our dad. You are better than that. You can breathe... its simple... in and out... in and out." She then sucked in a hard, deep breath and slowly let it out as if to demonstrate how easy it was.

Jack closed his eyes and let out a small, relieved chuckle. "Can we please leave now?"

Molly dropped her hand and smiled. "Sure... Helen told me you have a date tonight with Marybeth."

"It's not a date."

"I should hope not," she said with a bit of skepticism. "You're obviously not over the last one."

"Just let me worry about my personal life."

"Because that has worked out so well?"

Jack gave Molly a very direct, definitive scowl. It was both maddening and refreshing to have someone in front of him who could predict his next thought and give him back as much gruff as he could give. As he looked into his sister's green eyes he finally accepted that for some reason the universe had gifted him with an endless amount of impossible women.

He would never have peace.

* * *

><p>The entire date... or "non" date... with Marybeth was a nostalgic walk down memory lane, that began with picking her up thirty minutes late. Then waiting an additional thirty minutes for her to pick out which pair of shoes to wear. Finally after convincing the Rowbee Theater ticket taker to let them into the movie late, they managed to sneak their way into the now closed balcony, where they awkwardly traded sideways glances until Jack worked up the courage to put his arm around her shoulders. Then they found their way to the nicer of the two restaurants in town, Fazio's. There Jack learned that after he broke up with her, she went to the University of Pittsburgh and earned a teaching degree. She now taught tenth grade English at their Alma Mater. And that her parents, which included the father who hated him, moved to Florida three years prior. Now she was all alone in Summitville. Somehow after they happily stuffed down their last bites of food, they both agreed upon making a visit to the football field where so many memories were made with a bottom shelf bottle of wine from the only gas station open so late.<p>

"This wine is cheap... it might as well be vinegar," Marybeth said studying the bottle.

"It's the best I could come up with from a gas station."

"You've always had bad taste. Always. Y'know you probably would have gotten down my pants a lot sooner, had you had the taste to find a more romantic place than this," she said as she uncorked the bottle and took a long drink, as she dangled her feet over the concrete wall that separated the bleacher's walkway from the field.

"That's a lie! You were afraid that Jesus would hate you," he said looking around at the old goal posts and scoreboard. "Besides, what did you expect?" I was a horny teenager."

She shrugged. "I don't know... something better than this. Believe me, losing my virginity amongst dropped soda cans and used condoms was not the way I envisioned it."

"At least you had me," Jack said with a self-assured smile. "My first time was with Tina, in those mildewed locker room showers over there." He pointed across the field to the time worn field-house. "It was horrible, and left me with a four thousand dollar dental bill."

"Yeah, well, Tina's a bitch," she said as she took another drink then passed the bottle to Jack.

His eyebrows rose as he stifled a snicker. "That is the first time I have ever heard you say the word bitch. Do I sense a bit of jealousy?"

"What kind of a girl says you are her best friend, then the moment you breakup with your boyfriend, she's giving him a blowjob in a locker room?" Her expression was completely appalled with the thoughts of being so underhanded. "And you let her! What's the matter with you? We just broke up!"

Jack squinted one eye and pulled his lips to the side in a grimace as if he was really giving her question some thought. "I was heartbroken... completely destroyed." His voice dripped of sarcasm. "I don't know MB. I was sixteen and lured in by the siren song of the ready and willing. I'm sorry."

"She's disgusting! You're disgusting!"

"I'm a man," he said with enthusiasm. Then he looked her straight on and brushed a strand of dark hair from her face. "You look really beautiful tonight."

"You're disgusting," she repeated with a coy smile. "Didn't you just have your heart and soul crushed by another example of your bad taste?"

"Three months ago," he said, indigently. "What are you worried about? I leave tomorrow afternoon."

Her shoulders slumped forward and her lips pursed in thought. "I wish you weren't. I hate to admit it, but it's been kinda nice just knowing you're around."

The wheels in Jack's brain immediately began to spin. Jeannie who? This was the girl. His girl. She had been from the first time he laid eyes on her. She was sweet, funny, and devoted to him. The first time around he loved her, but was ambivalent about their future. Now was the chance to actually be happy. Break the cycle of needy, crazy women and settle with someone who was uncomplicated. His sister's reservations began to replay in his ears, but she was wrong... she had to be. He wasn't proposing marriage to Marybeth. Just restarting where they left off. Nothing thoughtless or hasty. An actual adult decision for once.

"Y'know Marybeth," he started cautiously. "There are schools in Gotham. Inner city schools, of course, where you will have to wear a bullet proof vest. But, schools none the less."

She stared at him for a moment then a deep line appeared between her eyes. "What does that mean?"

"You really want to be here for the rest of your life?" he asked. "Living in this bumfuck town. Eating at Lucky's Diner. Teaching at the same school you graduated from."

"This is my home."

"Yeah, but the world is much bigger." His words started to come faster and with more gusto. "Why not come to Gotham? With me?"

She let out a loud laugh and began to shake her head to the contrary. "You are crazy! Absolutely crazy!" She cleared her throat and her face became astounded by his bravado. "You really are! And you must think I am too! No...no!"

"Look, I'm not asking you to marry me and have my babies." His face became very serious. "School is almost out for summer, right? Why not give your resignation, come to Gotham this summer, get settled in, then start at a new school next fall? Your family isn't here anymore. There isn't anything here for you."

She grabbed the bottle of wine from his hands and threw it back to give her more time to think. She then sat it down between them and covered her face with both hands. "I don't know Jack... that is a lot."

"Really it's not. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Her hands slowly drew down to uncover her eyes and she gave him a cautious, don't-get-your-hopes-up, look. "Spring break is next week. I guess I could come for a visit? To at least see the city?"

His eyes began to widen as she came closer and closer to taking the bait. "Yes! Come! I will show you the whole city. You can find out which schools will be hiring."

She held up her hand to quiet him so she could think more clearly. "I just fixed up my house. What will I do with it?"

"Sell it!"

"Where would I live in Gotham?" Her mind kept throwing up every excuse it could possible churn out.

He quickly placed his hand over hers. "With me. You can live with me for as long as you want. Forever if you want. My building is full of crazy old people, but they are harmless."

She pulled her hand away from his and crossed her arms over the metal railing. "We haven't been together for six years, and now I am just supposed to move to another city and into your apartment after one "non" date? How stupid is that?"

"We were together for four." His words sounded pathetically pleading. Almost as if subconsciously he knew that if he had to walk into that shitty apartment one more time by himself that he would undoubtedly go insane. "You and I both know that if I hadn't messed everything up, we would have gotten married. We probably would have kids by now."

She remained quiet, but Jack could tell by the sincerity in her eyes that she was hanging on his every word.

"It's different there MB. If we simply lived together in this town they would come after us with pitchforks and torches, but in Gotham no one cares, no one gives a shit what any other person does. We could give this another shot, Marybeth. A real one..."

She began to drum her fingers against her folded arms and stare over the football field. The silence that settled between them was formidable. With each passing second Jack's chest grew tighter and tighter. What could she possibly be waiting for? There was nothing in this town for her anymore. Finally, as Jack was about grab her and force her to face him, her head snapped in his direction and her perplexed expression began to soften. "Okay...I can't believe I am saying it, but okay..."

He couldn't hold back the joy that he suddenly felt. It was as though every brokenhearted moment over the past three months dripped away. He could feel his lungs begin to fill again and his blood pump with more veracity. He was finally coming back to life. In fact, he'd never felt so alive... not in years. He grabbed the back her neck and pulled her closer to him as he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "You won't regret it."

"I know," she said with a soothing trust. "I will spend next week with you. We will work out the logistics. But, it's a good move. I can feel it." She then put both of her hands on his face and gave him a welcome home kiss that had been waiting on her lips since the day he left.

As their kiss broke he kept his lips lazily on hers for a long moment. "Wow... I didn't realize how much I missed that."

"I've missed a lot of things about you, too," she said sweetly. "I'm still not an easy girl, but I would really like you to stay with me tonight. You won't get lucky, but I just want to feel you near."

He snapped his fingers in jest. "Dammit!" He then gave her a small kiss. "I can't really say no to that... now can I?"

* * *

><p>The rays of morning light brought both a splitting head ache and a walk of shame, as he strolled through his Aunt's front door. The accusatory looks from Molly were enough to keep him confined to his bedroom for most of the morning. Only quickly emerging to satisfy his hunger. Sometime during the early afternoon Topsy and a few other teammates made quick appearances to bid their farewells. Amongst the goodbye handshakes, they all made plans to visit each other more frequently. Maybe catch a game here or there. Plans that would never come to fruition.<p>

Then as his time in Summitville was winding down he finally gave into the persistent nags of both his Aunt and sister, and resigned to finally holding his niece. "You're cute Ava," he said as Helen snapped a picture. "But, your mommy can keep you."

"No babies anytime soon?" Molly asked as she took her daughter from his arms.

"Not unless they come out potty trained."

"They don't," said Molly as she determined the puffiness of Ava's diaper.

As late afternoon settled in and his bags were firmly placed in his trunk, Marybeth showed up to see him off. Her presence molded right in to where it had been before. Almost as if nothing ever happened. He gave his Aunt a hug, followed with an, "I love you." He promised to make a better effort to stay in touch. Now that Marybeth was going to be there to remind him, it didn't seem like such an impossible task.

Then he turned to Molly, who upon eye contact burst into tears. She clung to her brother's shirt with as much vigor as she had when they first reunited. "I love you. Please be safe... please," she uttered. Finally she backed away, took Helen's arm, then lead her sniffling Aunt back inside.

Marybeth and Jack stood for a long while sizing each other up until he finally spoke. "So you still feel good about this?"

"I do," She closed the distance between them and gave him a swift kiss. "I would cry, but I will be seeing you in two days."

He gave a simple nod and looked around the street that he once called home. There was a certain melancholy that moved over him. He knew that he would never be there again. At least never for a simple visit. Something tragic, like a funeral, maybe, but never for the simple enjoyment of going home again. It was sad. Growing up, he hated this place. Absolutely loathed it. Now he couldn't help, but admit that there would be a small part of him that would miss it.

His small town of Summitville, Pennsylvania.

After the eight hour journey back to Gotham, Jack was exhausted. He was thankful to find a parking space close to his building. Taking an extra, unnecessary step might have been too much to ask. He lumbered up his stairway and was uncharacteristically met with no hindrances in the journey to his door. He didn't bother trying to open it quietly and began peeling off his coat and throwing it to the floor as he entered. He made a quick call to his Aunt and sister to let them know he was home and safe. Then there was another much longer, much more involved call to Marybeth.

As he hung up the phone he felt warm. He took a sweeping look at his apartment and much to his happiness, it didn't seem so empty anymore. She would be here soon. Whatever remnants of past lovers that might still haunt the corners of his home would soon be swept away. Everything was going to be okay.

Everything.

As he kicked off his shoes, there was a knock at the door. At first it jarred him. Who could it be at this hour? Then his mind calmed as he remembered that his rent was due the next day. Simply Mrs. Burkiss coming around early to collect her wages. Surely, her eagle ears heard him make the climb to his apartment. Nothing to worry about.

"Yes...Yes... Mrs. Burkiss... I have the rent for you," he said a little too cheerily as he opened the door in one swift motion.

But, what awaited him on the other side was not a yellow toothed old lady, holding a one-eyed cat. But, rather a tall, blond ballerina with her arms neatly folded in front of her and a look of complete terror on her face.

The sight of her made him feel like someone sucker punched him directly in the face. Yes, that's what it was... a sucker punch from the universe. Someone up there got a hint that Jack Napier might be tingeing on a tad of happiness, and decided to throw an unexpected blow his way. At first he felt the same speechlessness that overcame him the night she left. Like his brain was too foggy to form a sentence. Then she made the inexcusable mistake of taking a step towards him, actually allowing the toe of her shoe to cross the threshold. It was in her silent gesture of assuming that all sins would be forgiven that the dam finally broke.

"Are you serious Jeannie?" he shouted. "Are you fucking serious? What could you possibly want? You are like a fucking hurricane! You blow through and destroy everything in your wake, then when things are put back together and fixed... here you come again. Why can't you just stay gone? Why can't you just leave me alone? Why are you here? Why?"

She stood quietly, taking in his hatred. He hated her... there was no doubt about that. She felt unsteady on her feet and put a clammy hand on the door frame to keep herself from becoming too wobbly. She waited for him to quiet and then finally sucked in a sharp breath. Her insides churned and her nerves got the better of her as heavy tear drops began to stream down her face.

...

...

...

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

><p><strong>So everyone, I want to hear from you! What do you think this baby is going to do for Jack and Jeannie? Do you think this is what will bring them back together? Or will this be another obstacle? I have a working idea of how it will play out, but I would love to know your thoughts! Get your input! Thank you!<strong>


	13. Chapter 12

**Hello everyone! I hope you all are very well! We only have around six to eight chapters left (give or take a few because some chapter I might split up), so while we are coming to the end I am going to be churning them out pretty quickly. Probably one chapter a week. I hope the last chapter might have enlightened you a little on why Jeannie is the way she is. I want to say a big thank you to all of you all that read and especially to those who review! **

**Please enjoy!**

**Chapter 12-**

* * *

><p><em>Tap... Tap...Tap... Tap...<em>

It was the same scene that Jeannie was in before. Sitting in Johannes' office, fidgeting with everything she could get her anxious fingers on, while nervously tapping the toe of her shoe against the floor. Her last visit to his office ended well for her. Better than she could have expected or hoped for. But, she was certain this one would not.

How was she going to tell him that she was pregnant?

How was she going to convince him too keep her in the lead?

_Tap...Tap...Tap...Crack_

Johannes stepped through his door without looking up from the papers in his hands, without even offering the slightest of smiles to calm her worried thoughts. He was all business. "So what's the verdict? Will you live?"

Jeannie remained quiet for a moment. She couldn't quite figure out what to do with her hands. First, she clutched the fabric of her skirt, then moved them to her sides, then to the arms of the chair. Finally, she clasped them together so tightly that her fingernails dug into her skin. Her mouth became dry and her voice disappeared somewhere deep inside. She couldn't even manage a sound. Finally, after several seconds of simply sitting in front of him with her mouth hanging open, a small a half-hearted attempt at a joke squeaked out. "Yes, I will live...hopefully."

Johannes became concerned with his star ballerina's lack of composure. "What's wrong? Nothing serious I hope?"

"Oh...oh it's serious. P-probably the most serious thing that it could be."

"Jeannie?"

"Well, we were both wrong...kinda wrong," she said, as she let out little sighs between each word. "It definitely isn't nerves, but I am sick. Not with the flu, though. Morning sickness. That's such a stupid name... it should be called all day, everyday sickness," she began to ramble.

"You're pregnant?" Johannes' asked, his voice steady, but disconcerting.

"That's what they tell me. They only gave me a blood test, though. Those things can be inaccurate? Right?"

_Right?_

Johanne's scribbled something down on a piece of paper, then looked at her from underneath his brow. "How far along are you?"

"Twelve weeks."

His shoulders slumped and he let out a long exasperated sigh.

"Please say something, Johannes," she begged.

He rested his chin upon the palm of his left hand and began to drum his pen against his desk with the right. He seemed to be just as much at a loss for words as she was. After a few more silent moments his face seemed to soften and he made his own attempt at a bad joke. "It couldn't be something easy like an eating disorder?"

"No... I'm sorry to disappoint."

He sat forward and folded both arms over his desk. "Please tell me the father isn't one of the male dancers."

"No." She laughed nervously. "No. The man in the pictures I had taped to my mirror. He's the father."

Johannes' nodded then began to shuffle papers across his desk. "Now I have to recast Giselle..."

"Oh no," Jeannie said, scooting to the edge of her seat. "You don't! I am only twelve weeks along... I'm not even showin' yet. The ballet starts in a month. It only runs for six weeks. By the time it's all over I will only be twenty-two weeks along. I might have a little bump by then, but I am sure some adjustments can be made to my costume to hide it. No one will be able to tell."

"No!"

"Johannes you are bein' unreasonable!"

"I'm being unreasonable?" he asked indignantly. "Samuel almost dropped you because he was nervous with just me watching him. What happens when there is a full house of eyes on him? You and your baby could be seriously hurt... or worse. I'm not risking it."

"So what...I'm fired then?" she said, angrily.

"No," he reassured. "There are lots of dancers with children. My wife danced for ten years after we had our daughter. You will take the rest of the season off and have the baby. Afterward, you will get yourself back in shape, then come back and we will see if we have a spot for you."

"You will see _IF_ you have a spot for me?"

He sat back and gave her a pointed stare. "It will be fine."

_Easy for him to say. _

She stood quickly as she felt tears begin to burn at her eyes. "Since you must recast Giselle... I think you should take a look at Paige Monroe, my roommate. She is very good."

"I will keep her in mind."

"Thank you for the opportunities you have given me, Mr. Sabbert."

"Jeannie," he spoke up as she turned to leave. "Congratulations on your baby. Remember children are not a punishment." he said, as he gestured to the pictures of his own children.

_Again... easy for him to say._

She thought telling Johannes would be the hard part. She never imagined Jack would be anything but thrilled to see her and would subsequently be overjoyed with the news of their impending child. After all, he once talked very passionately about having children with her. It seemed like something he wanted...

Someday, at least...

But, now as she stood in his apartment, already enduring the venom that came with his hatred for her, she realized that Johannes was easy pickings compared to Jack.

The two had been standing in a silent standoff for almost twenty minutes. Neither of them knew where to start. They both were waiting for the other to say something... anything, that would get the ball rolling. Jack stood with his back plastered against his front door. He looked as though he would fall over if he didn't have something to hold him up. Jeannie sat adjacent to him, on the arm of his couch, with her hands protectively folded against her stomach. Maybe he would be easier on her if she kept reminding him that his child was indeed growing within her.

The silence between them was deafening.

"Are you sure it's mine?" Jack was the first to speak. He knew his words were crass, but it seemed like a logical question.

She bit her lip with the implications that his question brought along with it. She thought about saying something just as crude, but couldn't come up with anything. Instead, she simply sighed. "Yes it's yours... there is no one else that it could possibly belong to. Unless, I am the Virgin Mary. But of course, we both know that isn't true."

He closed his eyes as if to get his bearings. He found nothing funny about her shtick. "How long have you known?"

"Two days..."

"And you just noticed..." His voice became harsh and accusatory as he interrupted her. "Shouldn't have a red flag gone up the first month?"

"Athletic women...like ballerinas... don't always get the tale-tell signs," she spoke as delicately as she possibly could. "I thought it was just stress."

It wasn't until that moment that he noticed how gaunt and unhealthy she appeared. Her skin was a sickly ashen color and hung a little too loosely from her bones. There were large, dark circles under her eyes that were a testament to her exhaustion and her lips were dry from dehydration.

Pregnancy did not become her.

He finally gathered the strength to stand straight and took a step closer to her. "So you're moving back here then?"

"Until the baby is born. Then I will be movin' back to Chicago."

"And take my child halfway across the country? No...No... No!"

"I _still _have a career Jack," she said emphatically. She knew it was probably a moot point, but she had to hang on to the hope that she would have something to go back to.

"And so do I."

"Oh yes... I forgot," she said, standing and closing the distance between them. "Murders Incorporated! What a great way to raise a child!"

"Well you would know, wouldn't you?" he slung back. "Since your dear ol' daddy has as much blood on his hands as anyone else...probably more?"

"Don't you ever talk about him," she shouted, laying one hard hand into his chest. "Don't ever talk about him!"

Jack took a step back and examined her face. The beautiful, carefree girl that left him with his heart in shreds three months prior was gone. Now, she was simply pathetic. Terrified. Unsure of how she was going to survive. How her child was going to survive. Picking her apart would do nothing but pour salt in the wound.

"Look, I shouldn't have said that. Fighting isn't going to get us anywhere," he said, trying to calm the storm that was brewing between them. "Like it or not... we have a child and we will figure out how to deal with it. We still have lots of time...we don't have to figure anything out tonight."

Jeannie took a step back and once again folded her arms over her stomach. "I guess you're right." She then noticed his bags still lying next to the door. "I'm sorry. You were obviously on your way somewhere or just gettin' back."

"I went home for a few days to clear my mind."

She laughed. "A lot of good that did."

"It worked for a minute or two."

Her arms lazily dropped to her sides and her eyes became almost pleading. "Jack, I know this isn't a good time to ask. But, I haven't told my parents yet, and I really don't want to offer up an explanation to why I'm home in the middle of the night. Can I stay here? Just until mornin'?"

He knew that allowing another woman to stay in his home would not go over well with Marybeth. But, this was the mother of his child... she would get special privileges that others would not. Marybeth would just have to understand. "Yeah, you can take the bed, and I'll stay out here. I'll go with you tomorrow to tell your family, too. It wouldn't be right for me to make you do that alone."

Her beseeching expression fell to relief. "Thank you! Thank you, so much. But, really you don't have to sleep on the couch. You can stay with me. I'm pregnant...with your baby. It's not like there are many secrets between us."

"It's not that," he said softly. "I can't think of a worse time to tell you this. But, I... I... I'm with someone now."

At first she thought he was joking. She even started to chuckle, but the longer she looked at the honest expression on his face, the more she realized that he was serious.

Oh God...He was serious...

He had moved on...

Without her...

"Already? Really? It's only been three months. I thought it would take you a little longer. It usually takes people longer than that... doesn't it? At least...I thought it would take you longer."

"So did I," he agreed, looking away and refusing to make eye contact. "But, when I was home, I went out with an old girlfriend, and it felt really good. It felt right."

_It felt right..._

"Marybeth... that's her name. I remember you mentioning her." Jeannie's face was covered with a smattering of emotions.

Confusion.

Pain.

Anger.

It was all there.

"Jeannie, I'm sorry." He felt horrible... like he had just revealed a deep, dark affair to a wife. A pregnant wife. "I didn't know about the baby. And...and...for what it's worth, it's been rough since you left. It's been very hard for me to move on."

He _really_ had moved on.

Just like she told him to...

"Don't apologize." Her voice cracked. "Don't apologize. I told you to find someone else. I told you to. And, despite what you may think...I do want you to be happy. If you are happy...then I am happy."

_Lie..._

Not another word was spoken between the two for the rest of the night. There was nothing left to say. She quickly disappeared inside the bedroom and he cemented himself to the couch. It seemed as if everything left unsaid and undone between them had dissolved into nothingness. There was no point in rehashing the past. It was over. Gone. He was gone. She was gone. They were gone. He left her somewhere behind. Just as she had him. They would spend a lifetime together as parents, but that was as far as it would ever go. Whatever hope she held onto that the man in the pictures, once taped to her mirror, was still holding on to her too, was nothing more than a fantasy.

All in her head.

It was really over.

The thin tendrils of morning sun seeping in between the window blinds woke them both from their restless sleeps far too early. It took both several minutes of shaking out the cobwebs in their brains and rubbing bleary eyes, to even register that the night before actually happened. They filled the rest of their morning awkwardly shuffling from one space to the other, doing their best to avoid the other. It was hard not to encounter the other, when they were sharing two rooms.

The iciness between them didn't thaw on the silent ride to her family home. He simply stared ahead, while she looked out the side window, debating on if it would be worth her while just to jump. End it all right then and there. She could simply open the door and fall out. She surly wouldn't survive. Then she could avoid ruining her child's life. The humiliation of losing her career. Being poverty stricken, sleeping with men to pay for her child's next meal. Everyone would be better off. And Jack... Jack would certainly be better off without her. He could be happy with that...that girl... that little nothing of a woman that stole him away.

Then it happened.

Just as she was about to make up her mind, she felt the warmth of his hand on her knee. It wasn't done suggestively or with romantic intentions. More of a showing that he was there. A support. Solidarity. Like the night the two were on the beach near her home and he slipped a friendly arm over her shoulder. _I'm here for you. I won't leave you alone._

As they began the trip up her driveway, she felt her stomach flip as Jack's hand tightened around her knee. Dread... simple dread. They were both adults? Why was this so hard?

"Are you ready?" he asked helping her out of the car.

"No...once I actually tell them... well... then it's real."

He gulped then captured her hand in the iron grip of his. "It's real, whether you tell them or not."

They lingered on every step.

Taking...one... at...a... time...

Soon they couldn't put it off any longer. There were no more steps to hesitate and ruminate on. Do or die. They just had to walk through the door and get it over with...

"Momma...Daddy... I'm home..." Her voice echoed throughout the foyer.

No response...

"Momma!" she shouted again.

Again, nothing...

Finally a little life showed in the sprawling mansion as the Dupree's housekeeper, Heylia, poked her head out of a back room. Heylia was straddling the line between being middle- aged and elderly. She had worked for the Dupree's since she was young and stepped up in the place of Jeannie's mother. She made Jeannie's lunches. Took her to school. The doctor. School plays. Ballet recitals. Any time there was the need for a dried tear or nurturing word, Heylia was there.

Heylia didn't like many people, and she certainly didn't like Jack. She tolerated him when he was simply Sal Valestra's driver. Just another one of the help. But, whatever hint of likability she might have found in him, was gone the moment he broke rank and started sleeping with the boss' daughter. Jack knew nothing about Heylia other than what Jeannie told him, while she was sneaking him up to her bedroom when their relationship was still new and sweet. "Oh don't mind Heylia. She's old south... she thinks women should still wear petticoats. She was raised in a Bayou swamp by a Conjure man and a Voodoo Priestess- or somethin' like that. Now, she only speaks Creole French, but she understands English full well... so be careful what you say around her." That was the most formal introduction the two ever got.

"Oh Heylia," Jeannie said, dropping Jack's hand and trotting to Heylia's side. "Where are Momma and Daddy?"

"Pourquoi etes-vous ici?" _Why are you here_, Heylia asked with concern in her heavy Creole French accent.

"Nothing is wrong Heylia. I am perfectly fine. I just need to speak to my parents. Are they home?"

"Dans le jardin," She said, shooting Jack a dirty look. It was as if she knew what Jeannie's abrupt homecoming meant.

"In the garden," Jeannie repeated, motioning Jack forward.

"It's good to see you, Heylia," Jack said as he passed her.

She offered him nothing in return but a disgusted snort.

Again they joined hands as they walked through the backdoor to the covered porch. Jeannie's mother was nowhere in sight, but her father sat in a wheelchair strategically placed under a shady tree. The frail man that sat unmoving, not even noticing the reappearance of his only daughter, was merely a shell of the man he once was. Jack met René Dupree for the first time during a routine meeting between Sal and his business partners. He didn't even know who Jeannie Dupree was at the time. He vaguely remembered Sal asking, "So where's your daughter, René_?" _It was so incidental that Jack didn't even bother to give it anymore thought. His next memory was of René slapping him on the back of his neck with a rock hard hand, while saying, "Goddamn boy you're as tall as a tree." Even though Jack stood head and shoulders above him, he still found René imposing. He had a booming voice that was laced with a heavy Cajun accent and his shoulders were as wide as a doorway.

But, after suffering a stroke, René was left paralyzed from the waist down and unable to speak. Now his days were only spent staring at a faraway object that only he could see. The only person he responded to was Jeannie, and that was only with a small twinge of smile at her voice or following her movements with his eyes. Seeing her father so debilitated was devastating to Jeannie. While growing up, her father was her rock. Her stability. She knew that the mountain of a man she called, Daddy, would never want to live like that. Needing assistance with the smallest of tasks. She would often crumble into Jack's arms and cry, "I just wish he would die. I know I'm an awful person, but I wish he would just die."

Jeannie was breathless as she stared at her father. It was as if every bit of courage in her body suddenly poured out. "Maybe you should stay here... just for a minute," she said looking up at Jack.

"Are you sure?" he asked, giving her hand a little squeeze.

"Umm... yes... for right now at least." She gave her words a self- assuring nod, then bounced down the steps and quietly walked to her father's side. "Daddy...it's me. I'm home."

His eyes shifted slightly in the direction of her voice and one corner of his lips turned upward into small smile.

"You look good, daddy. Really good." She crouched beside him and took both of his hands in hers. "Heylia said that you and Momma were both out here, but I'm glad it's just you. I've missed you so, so much." She looked hopefully into his eyes and placed one of her hands upon her stomach. "Daddy, I have really good news. Do you remember Jack?" Of course, she knew he had no way of answering her, but she refused to speak to him any differently than she had before. "Well Daddy, Jack and I are..."

"Jeannie!" Adele's voice cut through the air. "I thought I heard you shriekin' inside the house. What are you doin' here?"

Jeannie stood straight and immediately began to motion Jack to her side. At the sight of her mother, Jeannie's voice became unbearably ragged and she began to fidget with the material around her waist. She looked scared to death. As if some satanic monster appeared before her. "Momma... I'm home."

"Obviously, I can see that, you silly girl," Adele said, shaking the dirt from the flower bulbs in her hand. "Chicago not all it was cracked up to be?"

"Oh no," Jeannie said. "It was more than I could have hoped for. I was even the lead. The star. I was Giselle."

"Was?" Adele looked up, then glanced at Jack as he arrived at Jeannie's side. "Well look what the cat dragged in. I thought you were long gone." She then turned her cold gaze back to Jeannie. "Please don't tell me you are givin' up your career because of him? You can do so much better."

"No." Jeannie took a step backwards, as if she were about to cower behind Jack's back. "I'm not givin' anything up. Just takin' some time off." She then glanced to Jack before taking in a long, preparatory breath. "Momma... Daddy... "Her voice stuck in the back of her mouth and refused to go any further.

"Well spit it out, child..." Adele said with a prodding laugh.

Jeannie swallowed down the ball of cotton that abruptly took up residence in her throat and once again found her voice. "Jack... Jack... and I are havin' a baby."

As the words slipped from Jeannie's mouth, Jack placed a hand on the small of her back. Just to remind her that he was still there. Still on her side.

Nothing about Rene's expression changed, but Adele on the other hand, was nothing but her normal, charming self. "Jeannie, I thought you were smarter than that. I didn't know I raised such a stupid, stupid little girl."

"It's not stupid...it... it just happened."

"Yes, while you were bein' an unmarried whore." Adele's words were sharp and condemning.

Jack instantly bristled at Adele's accusation. What kind of a mother called her own daughter a whore? Especially a mother who spent the better part of her first months in Gotham having secret meetings with Sal Valestra. Meetings that Jack supplied the transportation to.

Adele then became aghast as a new thought popped into her mind. "Please tell me that you two will be gettin' married before you start showin' too much. I would just be humiliated if you have to get married at the courthouse because no self-respectin' church will marry an unwed mother."

Jeannie looked down and nervously began to kick at the dirt. "No, Momma. We aren't gettin' married. Since we broke up before I went to Chicago, we think it would be best if we parented separately."

Adele crossed her arms and looked at her daughter with disgust. "No man will ever marry you. You are just goin' to be livin' in some shitty apartment dancin' on a stage for tips, with a bastard child."

"I won't let that happen," Jack spoke up.

Adele paid no attention to Jack, but rather continued her assault on Jeannie. "You have squandered your career away. It's over."

"That's not true!" Jeannie protested. "My director said that I could come back after I have the baby. He said, that there are lots of dancers who have children. I would only have to get myself back into shape."

"Of course he is going to say that," Adele said, with a smug smile threatening to cross her face. "He can't legally fire you for bein' pregnant. When the time comes, there won't be a spot for you. You're finished. Your pretty little figure will be gone, along with your perky twenty-one year old breasts. You'll be a mother. You'll be just like me."

_You'll be just like me..._

_You'll be just like me..._

_You'll be just like me..._

The words echoed in Jeannie's head as she felt her legs begin to give way. She grabbed Jack's arm as she began to gag and pulled him back to the house. She couldn't get away from her mother fast enough. Every moment of Jeannie's life that had any meaning, was without a doubt destroyed by Adele. Jeannie had always baulked at the thoughts of bringing a child into the world. The fear of being even the slightest bit like her mother was unbearable. Enough to wish herself barren. Alone for life. She WOULD NOT be her mother... she simply wouldn't allow it.

No matter what that would take...

"Jeannie...Jeannie... stop," Jack said, pulling her around to face him as they entered the house. "Don't listen to her. You will be a great mother. You have more compassion in your fingertip than she has in her entire body." It was an overstatement... a huge overstatement... but one that he had to believe in. One that Jeannie had to believe in, if she was going to be a mother.

Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes as she tried to catch her breath. "Please... Jack please let me stay with you...please... I can't stay here... not with her...please don't make me! I have nowhere else to go!"

He put his hands softly on her face. He could feel the hopeless, heartbroken heat radiating from her skin. He finally reached his breaking point, when the wet warmth of her tears began to puddle around his fingers. "Of course. Of course. You can stay with me... as long as you need to."

The worried wrinkles in her forehead smoothed as she looked into his eyes. She trusted him. He wasn't going to let her down. "Let me get a few things that I left behind before. I don't want to come here anymore, and I don't want to leave them behind again."

"Take your time," Jack said with a dependable, reassuring smile.

As soon as she left his sight, Marybeth sprung into his mind. Marybeth. What the hell was he going to tell her? _Oh this is my pregnant ex-girlfriend...she will be living with us for a while_. No... nobody is that understanding. Not even good-natured, caring Marybeth. He would have a hard enough time breaking the news to her of his coming child.

Oh shit...

His child...

His child...

Flesh of his flesh...

Bone of his bone...

Then the fear that must have been consuming Jeannie, swallowed him whole. It was completely overwhelming. Almost paralyzing. What if he was like his father? Abusive. Drunk. A weak coward that runs away when things get too tough. Checked out. He was going to be a father. The baby was coming. No stopping it or changing it. He would just have to...

...be a man.

A hard tug on Jack's sleeve pulled him from his thoughts. His whole body trembled as he turned to find Heylia handing him a large, yellow envelope and motioning for him to open it. As his fingers pulled back the folds of paper to reveal what was inside, he felt his knees begin to buckle. There was stack, upon stack of hundred dollar bills in his hands. There must have been at least ten thousand dollars shoved inside.

"Why?"

"Pour le bébé," Heylia said, her face completely stoic.

"For the baby?" Jack asked, while taking another look inside.

"Oui," She replied.

"Th-thank you... thank you... I can't say it enough..."

Just as Jack was about throw another heap of gratitude atop the pile, a sound filled his ears. It happened in an instant. Jack would later find it hard to remember the details completely. The sound was hard to place at first, but not one he was unfamiliar with. It was a hollow, disgusting sound. It happened again...

...and again...

...and again.

It was the dull thud that accompanied a body hitting the ground. He couldn't understand why he was hearing it then... inside that perfect house... completely out of place. Then he realized what it was. It was the sound of someone falling down the stairs.

No...

Not someone...

Jeannie...

He rounded the corner to just in time to see her hit the bottom stair and come to a hard, bone breaking stop on the floor below. Her body bounced, like it hit a brick wall at full speed. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, then she was clearly unconscious. Her right leg was twisted backwards at a sickeningly, unnatural angle and already beginning to bruise badly. Looking at her broken, crumpled body, he was certain that their baby was dead. No way could it have survived the fall.

From that moment on, everything happened so fast around him that his next cognizant memory began in the Gotham General Hospital waiting room. Somewhere in the mix of it all, he must have called Frankie, because somehow his loyal friend ended up waiting beside him, occasionally trying to coax a few words out of him.

"What happened, Jack?" Frankie asked. "Is she okay?"

It took Jack a moment to get his bearings, but he was finally able to speak. "She's conscious now. She says that she tripped coming down the stairs. An accident. Her right wrist might be broken. Her right leg definitely is. It looks terrible. They can't do x-rays because of the baby. So, they won't know the extent of the damage until they take her to surgery to set the breaks."

"Wait." Frankie stopped Jack. "She's pregnant?"

Jack covered both eye sockets with the heels of his hands. "And apparently God hates me."

"Is the baby hurt?"

Jack dropped his hands to his knees. "I don't know yet. They are doing an ultrasound to make sure."

Frankie forced a smile through his grim expression. "It will be okay... I'm sure the baby is fine. My ex-wife was in a car accident with our first... and that kid... well... that's not good example 'cause that kid definitely ain't normal."

Jack let out a breathy chuckle. "I hope... I hope it's okay."

As he stopped speaking and slouched down in his chair, a nurse stepped in front of him. "Mr. Napier?"

"That's me."

"You're the father?"

"I am." Jack stood as he answered.

"Come with me."

Jack followed the nurse back to a small room in the back of the ER. Jeannie lay unmoving in the bed with her leg awkwardly propped on a pillow. There was a deep bruise covering the line of her jaw and a gash across the bridge of her nose. She looked pitiful. A doctor was examining her leg and doing his best to explain the operation that would be required to fix it. Jack could tell by the confounded look on Jeannie's face that she felt like the doctor was more talking at her, than to her.

"I just want to know if I will be able to dance." Jeannie spat out.

"I won't know for sure until I get a better look inside, but you should prepare yourself for an answer that you won't like."

"So no?" She demanded more than asked.

"No," the doctor said apologetically. "But, I am confident that you will be able to walk. So that's a blessing." He then stepped back as an ultrasound tech pushed in an ultrasound machine. "I will see you in surgery, Miss Dupree."

Jack nodded a thank you to the doctor as he passed, then took his place in a chair by Jeannie's side. He cautiously placed his hand on the bed beside her. He wasn't sure what to do. Her expression was helpless and bewildered. Like a lost child. There was a steady stream of tears flowing from her eyes, but no sound. It was in a way worse, than if she were sobbing. At least then he would know what she needed. He wished that he could come up with the perfect words. Something... anything to ease her hurt. But, there was nothing that he could come up with. Nothing that would satiate the sprawling crater that had just been gouged into her soul. The unbelievable loss coming from years of hard work destroyed with one wrong step.

"Okay, Miss Dupree this is going to be cold," the tech said, pulling up her gown and squeezing out a tube of sticky gel onto her stomach. "Your chart says you are only twelve weeks along. That's still pretty early, so don't panic if I don't get the heartbeat right away. Did you have an ultrasound when pregnancy was confirmed?"

She was still for a moment. Like she didn't realize that the question was being posed to her. "Oh...no... just a blood test."

The moment the fuzzy, black and white image popped up on the screen, Jack felt his chest tighten. What if it was dead? What if it was injured? A million things could be wrong.

But, then there was an equally terrifying thought.

What if everything was okay? How were he and Jeannie going to raise this baby? Yes, the money Heylia gave them would be a huge help, but it would only go so far. They were going to parent this child separately. That meant two cribs, two supplies of diapers, food, clothes... the list went on and on.

"There," the tech said, pointing to the screen. "You see that little oval with four circles coming off of it? That's your baby. If you watch closely you can see it moving. Now, do you see that flickering light? That's its heartbeat." She then pressed a small button on the machine and the room filled with the rapid thump from their child's heart.

There was an audible gasp from Jeannie as she clasped her hand over Jack's. It was as if in that moment she realized that the life inside of her was not some myth. It was actually there. Growing. Surviving. Thriving. She then knew that she could do it. She could be a mother. Not like her mother, but an actual nurturing mother who would love her child. The maternal instinct instantly kicked in.

She was a mother...

The tech then printed off a picture from the screen and handed it to Jeannie. "Everything looks good. Placenta is intact and healthy. The baby is measuring at exactly the right size for twelve weeks. Heart beat is a little fast, but that is just because of your adrenaline. Once you calm down, so will the baby. All in all... everything is normal. You two should be expecting a healthy baby soon!" She then clicked off the machine and wiped the gel from Jeannie's stomach before leaving the new parents to themselves.

"Did you see that?" Jeannie asked, firming her grasp on Jack's hand. "That was our baby!"

"And it's healthy... normal..." Jack said with an amused tone. Almost as if, he was surprised that anything that sprung from his loins could be called normal.

Jeannie looked at the lines on his face for a moment, then found herself not being able to hold back her feelings any longer. "I know you are with someone new, but I love you, Jack. I missed you every day while I was gone. I cried myself to sleep over you, every night. I want you. I want this baby. I want our shitty apartment. We have to clean the carpet, and repaint, and baby proof... and I want to do all of that with you. A crib would fit perfectly in that weird shaped corner in our bedroom. I can't imagine doing this apart. You don't have to say anything now. And I know I am asking a lot. Especially with everything I have put you through. But, please... please just think about it."

Jack didn't need to think about it. Every word that was just spoken was exactly what he needed and wanted to hear. He would have to break Marybeth's heart again, but he didn't love her. He just didn't want to be alone. She was something to fill the hole that Jeannie left behind. A place holder. But, now he was expecting a baby with the woman that he was made for. He had responsibilities. He wasn't going to be like his father.

He was going to be a good husband.

A good father.

A good man.

He kissed the back of her hand, then said, "I think we have called it, 'it' long enough. Maybe we should pick 'it' out a name."

Jeannie's eyes widened as she tried to think of something that she liked. "I've never thought of baby names before."

"Neither have I," Jack said, sitting forward. His mind then wandered to the picture he kept in his pocket of a pretty, strawberry-blonde girl, that he picked off the body of one of his victims. A picture meant to remind him never to lose his humanity. A picture signed _To David. I love you, Heather_. "I like the name Heather, for a girl."

"Heather... I like that," Jeannie said with an approving smile. "What about for a boy."

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. I picked the girl name...you pick the boy name."

She lay back in her bed and bit her bottom lip as she tried to come up with the perfect name. Nothing... Finally she gave up and blurted out the first name that came to mind.

"Patrick!"

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! It is incredibly motivating!<strong>


	14. Chapter 13

**I hope you all are well! Thanks to everyone for reading and also to those of you who review! It is very appreciated and motivating! Please enjoy this chapter!**

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><p><strong>"Did I ever tell you the one about the guy who came home to find his wife a paraplegic?"<strong>

**-The Joker, Arkham Asylum**

**Chapter 13-**

What the hell happened to his hands?

They were so numb, that he couldn't even feel them. Buttoning his sleeves was proving to be an impossible task.

And that damn clock on the wall!

The closer the hands moved to 10 a.m.-the scheduled time for the end of his bachelorhood- the louder the ticking became. He swore he could even hear its gears turning.

And Jeannie! Why the hell was she so calm? She stood in front of a mirror smoothing an unruly tendril of hair that kept falling into her face. Her forehead was smooth and worry free, and there was even the ghost of smile pulling at her lips. She didn't look like a woman who was about to legally bind herself to a man until one of them died.

He gave his dead fingers another try at buttoning his sleeve...

...again, no luck.

And, Frankie... Frankie was the one who was really on his last nerve.

He was just standing there, propped up against a wall, counting the white tiles in front of him. _It made Jack crazy!_ Frankie happily agreed to be their legal witness. But, now as he simply stood off to himself, nonchalantly, as if this was something he did every day, Jack inexplicably felt the urge to punch him in the face.

Jack's mouth suddenly went as dry as a desert and a splitting pain shot from between his eyes to the back of his skull.

What was with that fucking clock?

And his goddamned fingers...

His dead, numb fingers...

Finally as that same damned strand of curly hair once again fell into Jeannie's face, and his fingers again failed him, he barked, "CAN YOU HELP ME WITH THIS?" He winced a little, as he realized how sharp his words sounded as they echoed back to him down the empty courthouse hallway.

"Are you okay?" she asked, sardonically as she turned her head, ever so slightly in his direction.

He began to nervously laugh and pull at the collar of his shirt. "I can't seem to work these damned buttons."

He sighed as he watched her steady herself then move to the bench he sat on, limping every few steps on her right leg. It was hard to believe that only ten weeks prior, the leg that would occasionally hitch, was broken in three places. Six weeks after the fall she started walking with the aide of crutches; at eight weeks she threw the crutches away and refused any assistance at all. His tenacious, hard-headed Jeannie was back.

She sat down beside him and took his hand in hers and easily buttoned the cuffs. "There... crisis averted."

"Y-you don't have to do this, y'know," he said, with a sad smile.

"Are you kiddin'? You get me in this dress and you're backin' out now, Napier?" Her words were laced with sarcasm.

"I just know this isn't the type of wedding you had in mind. No girl dreams of getting married by a Justice Of The Peace, in a courthouse, where there are criminals who were arrested for masturbating in public being deposed on the next floor down."

She brushed her fingers over the back of his hand and gave him a reassuring grin. "Baby, you know me. You know I have never, ever dreamed of any kind of weddin'... masturbatin' criminals or not," she joked. "Jack, if I didn't want to marry you, I wouldn't. I wouldn't have accepted your mother's ring. I wouldn't be sittin' here with you now."

He touched the dull diamond on her left hand that he gave her the day after her fall. The same day that he had a three hour fight with Marybeth that culminated with her screaming at him, _"You still love her... just admit it!"_ The only thing he could respond with was, _"Marybeth, isn't that obvious?_"

Jack's face then fell into a deep frown as he looked into the blue eyes of his future bride. "I'm just afraid I won't be good at this."

"Me too. I know no more about being a spouse or parent than you do," she said, as she shifted to face him full on. "But, we can learn together. And look at it this way, we have already been through so much. Think about it... we both had dysfunctional childhoods, you almost died in war, I was shot, we had a terrible break up, I broke my leg, my momma has tried everything humanly possible to keep us apart over the last ten weeks. We've had a lot of shit in our lives. We have to be turnin' the corner." Her eyebrows arched and the corner of her mouth twitched up in a coaxing grin. "How much more could happen to us?"

He felt his stomach begin to settle back down to its normal place, rather than his throat. He then placed his hand over her tiny baby bump. "You're right. Things are looking up. We have a home, we're getting married... and we have _him."_

She softly placed her hand over his. "Our little boy..." She thought back to her previous doctor appointment when it was confirmed that the baby growing inside of her was indeed a Patrick. "He will have good parents. You had a good mother and I have a good father... we almost have a whole family between us. And our other parents gave us the blueprint on what not to do."

"They certainly did," Jack laughed.

"And if we are ever in doubt... we can just ask Frankie! He has kids," she said with a chuckle, as she gestured to Frankie. "You'll stop us if we are screwin' our kids up. Won't you Frankie?"

Frankie nodded and gave her a reassuring wink. "I'll keep an eye on ya."

"See." She turned back to Jack. "We've got this."

Jack swallowed down a nervous lump in his throat, then his eyes seemed to glaze over as if he were lost in thought. "Oh shit...I'm a parent..."

"And, you're about to be a husband," Frankie said, as he noticed the judge's office door opening.

"Applicants Napier and Dupree." A stern voice came from a tall man wearing a judge's robe as he walked into the hallway.

"That's us!" Jack and Jeannie said in unison as they both jumped to their feet.

"You have your witness?"

"We do," Jack said, motioning to Frankie.

"Follow me," the judge said, turning and waving them forward.

Jack grabbed Jeannie's hand and gave it a tiny squeeze. "You ready?"

"Of course. Are you?"

He let out a long, steady breath between his teeth and gave her a tiny nod. "Yes." He then took a long, hard look at her; his beautiful wife. The sallow color of morning sickness had washed away and was replaced with a healthy pregnancy glow. Her hair hung in loose curls down her back with one errant lock mockingly hanging in her face. She wore a flimsy, old white sundress with yellow flowers sewn across the hemline, to take the place of a wedding gown. It pulled a little too tightly over her expanding midsection, but she wore it proudly. She was stunning. Happy.

And he wondered how he was lucky enough to get her for a wife.

"I need to see some ID from the both of you," the judge said, as they followed behind him and he walked around his desk. After he took a look at their driver's licenses and handed them back, he slapped his hands together and said, "Everything seems to be in order... let's jump right in."

A shiver ran down Jack's spine as he gave Jeannie a sideways glance. He was amazed at how calm and collected she seemed. The teasing girl he met at the Gotham Plaza Hotel so many months ago was a memory. She had grown into a woman. A woman ready to take the next step in life. A woman at peace. It was amazing to him that his surly, prickly ballerina had been turned into a cock-eyed optimist with the sound of a baby's heartbeat.

No... not just any baby. Their baby. Their son, Patrick.

He was doing the right thing.

They were meant to be.

"If it is your intention to enter into marriage," the judge's voices boomed over Jack's thoughts, "then turn to each other, join hands, and repeat after me. I, John Sullivan Napier, take you, Jeanine Lynn Dupree, to be my lawful wedded wife."

"I, John Sullivan Napier," Jack repeated, as he took Jeannie's hands. The sound of his full name was unbelievably comical to him. He could barely keep himself from laughing as he finished his vows.

Jeannie seemed to be mirroring his amusement as she giggled her way through her own lines with a shaky voice. Their hands were clutched together so tightly that their knuckles were white, and both had a gleam of sweat across their brows.

They were scared to death, but jumping in head first.

"Do you have rings that you wish to exchange?"

"Uh yes," Jack said, fishing two, pawn shop bought, wedding bands from his pocket and handing his to Jeannie.

"Then slip the ring on her finger and repeat, 'with this ring, I thee wed'."

"W-with this ring, I t-thee wed," Jack stuttered, as he slipped the ring on to Jeannie's finger. A broad, relieved smile crossed his face and he breathed, "I love you."

"I love you too," she muttered as she slipped the ring on his finger and repeated the, oh so worn out phrase, "with this ring, I thee wed." She felt tears begin to stream down her face. Happy tears that seemingly came out of nowhere. Wife and mother were not names that she ever hoped to be called, but it felt so right. Like this is where she was meant to be. Everything had fallen into place. It took her too long to figure out that he was the one she wanted... so many precious moments had been lost. But, as she stared up into his green eyes, she couldn't imagine being anything but his.

"Okay... you sign here... and you sign here," the judge said, laying two pens next to a dotted line on a marriage license. After they both quickly signed, he too signed his name then looked up at them with a well-crafted smile that he had given to thousands of couples before. "By the authority vested in me... I now pronounce you man and wife. Congratulations." He then motioned them to the door. "Next applicants please..." His voice followed them out.

It all took a grand total of five minutes.

But, it was the best five minutes of their lives.

Frankie snapped a picture of them that would one day hang in their upscale suburban home. Their future children would look at it and wonder what happened to the young man and woman who looked so in love. Jeannie looked happy and optimistic for the future. Jack wore a proud, Cheshire-cat grin.

It was a good day.

And the good days kept rolling in. It took a while, but they finally moved her things from her parent's home into his apartment... no... their apartment. Jeannie's mother threw a bit of a tantrum when she found out of her daughter's nuptials. She barred both of them from her home and told Jeannie that she hoped to never see her again. It was of no matter... of course, Jeannie had every intention of sneaking into her family home to see her father, but didn't plan on spending much time with her mother anyway. Jack relinquished ownership of the closet, with the exception of a space for a few of his nicer suits... and of course the stupid purple one that he only kept to goad Jeannie.

Jack spent most of his time readying his home for his coming son. He put down new carpet, repainted, and bought new, clean furniture. They bought a crib that fit perfectly in the odd shaped corner in their bedroom. Boxes of diapers lined the bathroom walls and tiny, blue baby clothes were lovingly placed in a chest of drawers. The elderly tenants of their building buzzed with the excitement of the coming baby. The old man, with one arm, on the second floor bought them a new stove. The old woman on the fifth floor, who liked to pinch Jack's backside, bought them a new refrigerator. Even Mrs. Burkiss couldn't hold back the warmth that new babies bring, and paid for a plumper to fix their moody pipes and allowed them to have grace periods on their rent... only a few days though, of course.

Jeannie took a job at the Midtown Ballet as a dance coach for young children. Her leg was far too weak for intensive moves, but was sturdy enough to take the steps required of six and seven year olds. It was only two nights a week, but would leave her exhausted for days. The money it lined her pockets with was laughable. Barely enough to buy a box of diapers, but it was her's... her tiny contribution to the household. The rest of her time was spent in her underwear, lying on their bed. Pregnancy and heat do not mix and just as luck would have it, it was the hottest summer on record in Gotham City, and their apartment only boasted a small window AC unit in the bedroom. Ahh... the bedroom became her sanctuary. Navigating stairs was an obstacle with her freshly healed leg, so she only made trips out of their apartment on an absolutely have to basis. So as soon as she would wake Jack with a tender kiss and he would leave for the day, she would scurry around, taking care of dishes and gathering laundry for sweet Mrs. Roberts to take to the basement washing machines. Then she would retire to her bedroom. After much work, she found a position that would allow for a cool stream of glorious air to hit her entire body. She would spend hours lying flat on her back poking her stomach, trying to get Patrick to move. It was still too early to really feel him. Sometimes she would notice a little bubble that she hoped was his response... she couldn't be sure, but she liked to think he was pushing back to her.

"Little boy, you are already so loved," she said, putting a hand on her bare flesh. "I didn't even know I could love somethin' so much. I can't imagine what it will be like to hold you and kiss you. And your daddy... oh your daddy... once he gets his hands on you, I will never get to hold you again. I bet you will be just as handsome as he is. He loves you so much and talks about you all the time. He already has big plans of playing catch with you, when you are big enough. He has even bought two baseball mitts! You have so much to look forward to! You have a good daddy and... well... a mommy who will do her best."

Along with pushing and poking at her baby, she would have long talks with him. Telling him about the city, his grandparents, his crib... the little, growing boy inside of her quickly became her best friend. Jack too liked to talk to his unborn son. At night, long after Jeannie was asleep, he would lay his head on her stomach and tell his son about his day and his hopes for the future. Jack really couldn't remember what his life was like before marriage and the knowledge of his coming son...only that he wouldn't want to go back to it.

Jack's life seemed to be sailing on an endless placid sea, until a rainy Wednesday evening when he was parked outside Sal Valestra's penthouse apartment building, waiting for Sal to exit his car's backseat. It had been a long time since he was asked to carry out a hit... a very long time. David, the boy who was killed to send a message to a rival gang, was the last one. Jack had a sneaking suspicion that his reprieve from the more gruesome aspects of his job was over.

And that hunch was confirmed when Sal's raspy voice began with its usual I've-got-a-job-for- you mantra. "Uh Jack... I need ya to take care of something for me."

"What can I do for ya Sal?" Hits meant extra money... and extra money was something Jack needed. No matter what it would take to get it.

"Well, I've been asked to remove a burden from someone's shoulders. You know René Dupree?"

Of course Jack knew René Dupree. Sal knew that René was Jack's father-in-law... why did he feign ignorance? "Yeah," Jack answered, dryly.

"Get rid of him..."

"What? Why? The man is practically a turnip." Jack didn't make it a habit of talking back to the boss, but on this one, he couldn't keep silent.

"A favor to a friend."

"Adele Dupree?" Jack asked.

"That doesn't matter," Sal answered, curtly.

That is exactly who had put Sal up to this. Sal was turning on a trusted partner over a woman... _that woman_. Killing a man who couldn't even feed himself for that evil harpy.

"He is my father-in-law..."

"And I am sorry for that, but it has to be done. I have information that his wife will be out of the house tonight from seven until nine...so if you leave now, you will have plenty of time."

Jack felt the palms of his hands begin to become clammy as he gripped the steering wheel and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He was looking for any excuse possible to get out of this hole he was being buried in. "They have a housekeeper."

"She will be out of the home tonight."

"I can't do this." Jack's voice rattled in his throat. This couldn't be really happening. "He is my father-in-law."

A heavy hand came down on his shoulder and clutched it tightly. "You have a very beautiful wife. I met Jeannie for the first time when she was only ten. She has really grown into a lovely young woman." He then pressed his fingers into Jack's flesh a little more viciously. "That was your first mistake... marrying a pretty one. In our line of work, _bad things tend to happen to the pretty one_s." He then opened the car door and stepped out. "Take care of it tonight," he said, before slamming the door behind him.

Jack released a long held breath and his forehead sunk down to the steering wheel. The fear of losing his own life because of insubordination, saying too much, or simply looking at Sal the wrong way was something he had learned to live with. But, for the first time ever, Jack felt the searing hot panic that came along with the thought of something happening to his wife and child. He remembered Frankie once telling him a story about a hitman that used to work for Sal that cut the face off of a young woman whose husband refused Sal's orders. Then another who ended up in a wheelchair after _Sal found out her husband was working with a rival gang, as well as his own_. Stories like that were a dime a dozen in Gotham's mob families. Fires would be set to family homes after the doors and windows were nailed shut. Cars carrying wives and children would be blown up. Entire families cut down because the big boss said so.

Disobedience was not tolerated.

A shudder flew up Jack's spine. He had to kill René Dupree; Jeannie's beloved father.

And he had to do it now.

His mind shut down as he drove to the Dupree home. He truly didn't even remember the trip. It was as if his subconscious was trying to shield him from the fact that Jeannie would eventually find out that he was the one who killed her only loving parent.

He didn't come back to consciousness until he realized that the gate to the family home stood uncharacteristically open. Left that way by Adele, so not to hinder her husband's imminent death. René Dupree's murderer was being welcomed in, with open arms.

Jack doubtfully opened the door and stepped in to the overbearingly large foyer. The house was completely quiet. Totally still. He instinctively waited to hear Jeannie's voice call to him from the second floor. _"I'll be right there... just fixin' my hair."_ She said it literally every time he picked her up from bodyguard to boyfriend. Whatever time she told him to be there, he could count on waiting an extra hour. At one time he even played around with the idea of not showing up until an hour after the designated time. The only reason he didn't follow through with it, was René.

René who took pity on the lanky young man waiting for his perpetually late daughter. _"Come on in here boy... let's talk,"_ he said, beckoning to Jack from his office. The two became instant friends. They regaled in stories of their shared experiences as high school football players and servicemen. They were both fans of the Gotham Knights, and spoke of going to a game together the next season. René revealed that he was an avid fisherman and promised to take Jack with him one day. He acted almost fatherly to Jack, attempting to take Jack under his wing.

Jack shook his head to ward off any unwanted memories and turned his gaze to his immediate left to look into Rene's office. There he sat. A feeble old man in a wheelchair, unable to move. Unable to fight for his life. Offered up by his wife like a sacrifice. As easy as shooting fish in a barrel. It was pathetic.

And it turned Jack's stomach.

As Jack walked through the threshold into the office, he noticed that René was thankfully asleep. Completely unaware that his grim reaper was standing in front of him. His head bobbed up and down with each heavy breath he took and his frail hands were folded across his lap. He was peaceful.

_"Really,"_ Jack thought to himself. _"I have to shoot this sleeping old man?_"

He then took a long look around the room. It was the only warm and inviting room in the house, apart from the one Jeannie once inhabited. The floors were cherry wood, and topped with heavy, leather furniture. An imposing mahogany desk sat at the farthest wall of the room in front of row upon row of gigantic bookshelves. It looked like it had been plucked from his home in New Orleans and sat down in the middle of Adele Dupree's almost clinical dream home.

Jack closed his eyes and steadied himself for what was about to come. And before he could stop it, the memory of Rene's bellowing voice laced with the accent of his Cajun heritage came roaring through Jack's mind.

And he was back to the days when he was merely a hapless bodyguard to an overindulged heiress, begging for her attention and only getting it from her father.

"So you have a girlfriend, Jack?" René asked, with the ghost of a chuckle.

Jack stared at him rather dubiously for a moment then shook his head. "No sir... not right now."

"Why don't you ask my daughter out? You both seem fond of each other."

Was he serious? Jack began to chew on the inside of his lip then shrugged. "I did once. But, she couldn't fit me into her schedule."

"Do it again."

Jack began to squirm in his seat. "She is with Bruce Wayne. I can't compete with that."

A huge smile, showing every tooth in his mouth, spread across Rene's mouth, followed by a guttural, overwhelming laugh. "You really think that is gonna work out? Have you met my daughter?"

Jack let out a nervous chuckle.

"Bruce Wayne is only interested in Bruce Wayne," René started. "Jeannie is only interested in Jeannie. She needs someone who is equally as interested in her."

Jack shook his head to the contrary. "Jeannie isn't that self-absorbed. She just takes some time to warm up to. To get to know."

"I know that," René said with pride, "and you see that too." He then stood up and circled his desk, sitting on the edge of its front. "You want children someday, Jack?"

Jack weakly nodded. "Maybe."

"Well if you do, you will worry about them constantly. And even more so if you have a daughter." His eyes then became glossy and far away. "I remember when Jeannie was born she had this mess of curly blonde hair and blue eyes that were too big for her face. She was an angel. I was wrapped around her chubby baby fingers from the first moment I laid eyes on her. I immediately began to worry about things that never crossed my mind before... everything was a danger." He smiled to himself. "Then when she started to grow into a beautiful woman, I started to worry about boys. What if one tried to hurt her... physically or emotionally? The thoughts of seeing my little girl cryin' over some boy was almost too much. Then I started to worry about men. Not so much ones that may hurt her... my Jeannie can take care of herself...but more about the one that would take her away." He then looked up to Jack. "Then I met you and I knew from the first time I saw you two together, that you would be the one to take her away. And it took me a long time not to hate you. But, as I've gotten to know you, I know that you will be good to her. You're responsible. A hard worker. And most importantly, you love her. You see her for who she really is... not who she pretends to be. I couldn't be happier that you are the one that is going to take her away."

Jack sat forward and placed his hands on his knees. "Do you know what I do for a living? What I do for Sal?"

René crossed his arms and folded his lips over each other. "Jack..." He hesitated. "I started out in a very similar situation. Just because you have done some terrible things, does not mean you are a terrible person."

That was the first time anything like that had been said to Jack. He felt like the weight of an elephant had just been taken off of his back. _Not a terrible person._

It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.

The sound of Jeannie's footsteps prancing down the staircase made René lean forward and give Jack a reassuring nod. "When this thing with Bruce Wayne fizzles out, ask Jeannie on a date. She cares about you, too. Don't miss your shot to be happy."

A loud snore coming from Rene's sleeping body slammed Jack back to present. He took a quick look at his watch, then sighed. _Shit..._ Heylia could be home at any time. Jeannie would begin to become worried. If he had to do this, then now was the time.

_Now..._

_Now..._

_Now..._

His mind screamed at him as he took a firm grasp on his pistol. He pointed the barrel directly between Rene's eyes, then took a step forward so not to miss.

He couldn't miss.

His hand began to shake violently and his breath was becoming harder and harder to capture.

_Do it now..._

Beads of sweat began to pour down his back, and finally he dropped his pistol down to his side.

"God fucking dammit!" He screeched through gritted teeth. "I can't do it... I can't fucking do it..."

_He is going to kill her and Patrick if you don't.._.

Jack sucked in a sharp breath and held it. He once again lifted his pistol in line with Rene's brow and pressed the hammer down. He now just had to pull the trigger... simple... something he had done a thousand times.

_Simple..._

_Right?_

His finger grazed the cold steel of the trigger and just as he was about to apply the needed pressure, Rene's yellowed eyes snapped open...

It took him a moment to register the man standing in front of him, pointing something in his face. Then all at once it seemed to sink in. He recognized Jack. He recognized the pistol. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped as if trying to plead for his life.

"I am so, so sorry René," Jack croaked out as he finally gained the strength to pull the trigger.

As the sound of the pistol firing met his ears, he instantly turned away from the gore that was surely behind him. He couldn't bear to look. He had to get out. Again his mind began to scream at him...

_Now..._

_Now..._

_Now..._

He crashed through the front door and landed squarely on his hands and knees as he emptied the contents of his stomach all over the front steps. Tears began to stream down his face as he retched. Trying to catch his breath he sat back onto his knees and covered his face... and then out of nowhere, a wave of relief washed over him.

Killing had become instinctual to him. He did it without thought or even malice. He didn't even feel bad about it. Occasionally... he even enjoyed it. When sent to kill Andrea Beaumont's father, Carl, he derived great pleasure from the hit. He felt like he was sticking it to Bruce Wayne, and the woman who had caused Jeannie so much heartache. He carried out Sal's whims without hesitation.

But this... this was a struggle. It was difficult. It took thought and effort. He literally felt like he had killed his own father. He couldn't keep himself from shedding tears over René.

His despair was alleviating...

He was still a human being...

His son would have a father, who hadn't lost his humanity.

* * *

><p>His entire body shook as he arrived home. He raced up the stairs so not to face any of the other tenants, then stood outside his own door shifting back and forth on his feet and trying to come up with the perfect excuse to where he had been all night. Once Jeannie was given the news that her father was dead, she would be able to put two and two together.<p>

_Tell her you cheated on her... that will surely go over better than, I killed your father._

_No...No..._ then he would be dead too.

Finally he worked up the courage to turn the knob and face his wife. As he entered, he found her sitting at the kitchen table thumbing through a magazine. She had strategically placed a fan in front of her and her feet were covered with a pair of ugly pink slippers. She even found it cool enough in their volcanically hot apartment to actually put on a nightgown and cover it with an expensive polka-dotted bathrobe she bought while her family was vacationing in Paris one summer. Looking at her made every organ in his body drop. He even fought the urge to make sure his intestines weren't lying on the floor before he took a step forward.

"You're home late," she said, only giving him a slight glance. "You are usually home before me, on the nights that I work. I was startin' to worry." It was a constant fear in the back of Jeannie's mind. What if something happened to Jack? His job came along with certain hazards... what if his number was to ever come up? "From now on, I want you to call if you are goin' to be late. What were you doin' anyway?"

_Tell her you were screwing some redhead from the bar. That's a good plan. Yeah... a real good plan._ He walked across the room and placed his hat on the seat adjacent from her. "Wh... What?"

"What were you doing?"

_Tell her something you fucking moron! She is going to get suspicious!_ "Oh... I just had to work late."

Jeannie arched her eyebrows. She knew what "_working late_" meant. "You haven't even noticed my hair."

His brow creased and he began to nervously pace. "What about it?"

She flipped the page in her magazine. "I had it cut today... and I straightened it."

"Oh...oh yeah... it l-looks nice," he said, tugging his tie off.

"I think I might start wearin' it this way all the time. Reinvent myself as I become a mother."

He gave her a meek, noncommittal grin. "Uh... yeah." He wasn't really listening to her, but rather pondering when the hysterical phone call from her mother or Heylia would come.

"Someone actually called me, Mrs. Napier today! It felt very official."

"Uh-huh."

"If you want it, there is dinner on the stove," she said, once again flipping the page. "Mrs. Burkiss brought it up. She knows that the smell of cookin' food makes me sick. Wasn't that nice of her? It smells like gym socks, but it tastes amazin'!" She finally looked up. "Jack?"

"Huh?" He blinked several times and brought her into focus. "I'm sorry, sweetie. What did you say?"

"Mrs. Burkiss brought up dinner."

"Really? That's surprising since that woman hates me. She comes out into the hallway to scowl at me every time I go upstairs."

"Well she feels sorry for me. And it was nice of her to make us dinner." She went back to looking at her magazine. "So how did it go?"

"How did what go?" He wandered around, trying to find something to distract himself with.

"Your day. How did it go?"

"Well...uh... it was just a normal day." His words sounded a little too forced even to his own ears.

"Oh."

"What do you mean 'oh'?" He snapped around and slammed his hands against the table.

"I...I didn't mean anything..." Jeannie said in a high pitched voice as she looked up to him.

"Yes, you did. The way you said it: '_oh'_. Like that," he sneered.

"Jesus... all I said was..."

He moved closer to her. "You said "_oh._" As in 'oh, so you are always going to be working the same dead end, no pay job.' As in 'oh so how are we going to feed the baby.' You think I'm not worried about that?" His anger at Sal for putting him up to killing René, his worry about being able to provide for their unborn son... and now his fear of Jeannie's reaction to her father's death was pouring out all over her. He couldn't stop it. The stress of pinching pennies and keeping her safe had been bottled up inside of him so tightly that a simple 'oh', caused it to erupt.

He took a step away from her to catch his breath. "You think... you think I don't care. That it's all a big joke to me or something. Jeez, I have to cart that old man around every day and do everything he says... _everything_... it doesn't matter how horrible it is. And you think... And you think I..." He caught sight of her hurt face. She didn't think any of those things about him, and it cut her deeply that he thought that she did. "Oh God... Oh God, I'm sorry," he said, sinking down to his knees in front of her.

She ran her fingers through his hair. "Oh baby... it's okay."

"I shouldn't take it out on you. You suh- suffer enough being married to a loser like me."

"Honey... that is not true!"

"It is true. I can't provide for you. You grew up in a mansion with private French tutors and riding lessons. Now you live in this dump that smells like old people and cat litter." He stood to his feet and walked to the window over their kitchen sink. "We can't bring Patrick back here."

"Jack, we have made this home as nice as we possibly can for our son. I may have grown up with every material thing I could want, but it didn't give me a good childhood. A supportive, lovin' family is what matters."

He turned and propped himself up against the sink. "I just want to get enough money to get out of this neighborhood. There are girls on the street that make that in a weekend and they don't have to take orders from some rich, old man."

"Oh, I can promise you, they are takin' orders from rich old men... your orders are just different... I hope," she said, opening her eyes wide in mock horror.

"Y'know Jeannie... since dancing is no longer an option and if you're not one hundred percent sold on the dance instructor gig... well after Patrick comes... there is always another option," he playfully smiled, motioning to the girls on the street corner beyond their window.

She burst out in laughter. A beautiful sound to Jack's ears. "No... no... I think I'll save that just for you." She then raised one eyebrow. "Maybe I'll start makin' you pay."

He walked closer to her, leaning down to give her a kiss and placing his hands on either side of her face. "Believe me doll... you have made me pay, every moment since the day that I met you."

She shrugged and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Well that's true... and you do know how to make me laugh."

Just as he was lifting her from her seat and about to begin coaxing her towards their bedroom the phone rang. Jack's heart stopped cold. He knew what it was. Any hope that it could be a simple wrong number was futile. He did his best to stave off what was inevitably coming next. He tightened his grip on her arms and planted a hard, desperate kiss on her lips.

"J-Jack...Jack... stop," she said, pushing herself back. "Easy there boy...let me get the phone first."

"It's probably nobody... one of those fucking telemarketers," he said, trying to keep his voice light and calm.

"Maybe, but it could be somethin' important," she said, picking up the phone.

Oh, was it something important. From across the room Jack could hear a screeching female voice screaming through the receiver. He started toward Jeannie... he wanted to be close to her to help blunt the pain she was about to feel.

"Heylia... Heylia. HEYLIA! Slow down! I can't understand you, when you talk so fast." Her face hardened as horrible, horrible news met her ears. Much to Jack's surprise she didn't tear up or even make a sound. In fact her face was as stoic as a statue. "I'll be right there, Heylia." She slammed down the phone and stood with her back to Jack for a moment.

He reached out and slightly grazed the skin of her shoulder. "Jeannie."

His gesture seemed to unleash an animal inside of her. She spun around slapping his hand away from her. Her eyes were glowing with rage. Rage directed squarely at him."Did you do this?"

"Jeannie... I...I..."

"Answer me, dammit..."

"Jeannie."

"Don't be a fuckin' coward. Did you do it?" Her face was seething; her words venomous.

He stood motionless for a long beat. He couldn't even make his tongue begin to form a syllable. He watched her face become redder and redder with every passing second. Maybe the idea to tell her he had cheated on her wasn't so stupid.

A simple no would have defused the situation. But, he couldn't find it in himself to lie to her. Not about this at least. Finally he found his voice.

"Yes."

Then the tears began and they were in no danger of stopping. "I'm leavin'. I want to go to my home where his body is."

"No you don't. Believe me... you don't." He tried to touch her arms again.

"Don't fuckin' tell me what to do... and don't touch me... don't touch me ever again," she spat out, as she stormed into the bedroom to dress.

Within in moments, she pulled on a light dress and was heading for the door.

"At least let me take you. Or help you down the stairs. It will take you at least fifteen minutes to even make it to the first floor"

"No!" Jeannie shouted, while grabbing the car keys from a table next to the door. "I don't want to look at you. Just leave me alone."

Then she left.

No laughter. No I love yous. No love making.

Now Jack was left alone... with nothing but the sound of the door slamming ringing in his ears.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter. I got a really great PM question the other day and I thought it might be something that maybe a few of you are wondering, so I decided to answer it here so you all could read it. The question was, "What time period is this story set in?"<strong>

**So the answer is... not really any specific time period. Nor is the war Jack fought in based on any real war in history. I have always felt that the Batman comic books and animated series kinda take place in a hybrid time period. There are many modern amenities in my story, but Jack and Jeannie are NOT texting each other or updating their facebook statuses. There really isn't internet or cellphones. People still use snail mail and landlines. The men all wear suits and hats and the women are groomed down to their very last eyelash, not schlepping out to the grocery store in their sweat pants( like I do!). Everybody smokes and everybody drinks, and it is still deemed okay to do so.**

**So I suppose a loose mixture of 1950's post war America with a few modern amenities.**

**I hope that answers that question!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	15. Chapter 14

**I hope you all are having the best day ever! Thanks for reading and reviewing! I make mention of a carnival game in this chapter called a Brass Ring Game. I had heard the term, "grabbing the brass ring," before, but was unfamiliar with the origins of the phrase. If you too are unfamiliar with Brass Ring Games, you can look one up on youtube. There are some pretty good videos of them.**

**Please Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"<strong>But, what is this that I can't see, with ice cold hands taking hold of me?"<strong>

**-Oh Death, Jen Titus**

**Chapter 14-**

"You can just drop me off right here," Jack said, emptying a fist full of cash into a taxi driver's hand. "I'll walk the rest of the way."

He stepped out of the cab and onto the road outside the Dupree home. He looked up at the monstrous, unwelcoming brick fence that encircled the property. The wrought-iron gate still stood open, rattling and swaying with the breeze. The blue and red lights from police cars and ambulances were clearly visible in the distance. Surely the entire place was crawling with cops, searching for the smallest shred of evidence.

_Perfect._

He made a small guttural grunt of disapproval, then pocketed both fists and hunched his shoulders, as he began to trudge up the driveway. A Coroner's van was clearly visible in the distance. Its back door stood open, and its hatch empty. _René must still be inside the house._ The car that Jack and Jeannie shared was parked sideways amongst the throng of vehicles.

_Damn...she got a good look at him then._

As he listened to his hard-soled shoes plop against the blacktop, his mind wandered back to when he and Jeannie were just dating. The best date they ever had was at the Bonus Brother's Carnival and Amusement Park. They spent the entire day eating fried fair food and riding rickety carny rides. His favorite was the Ghost Train, because Jeannie cuddled up close to him and hid her face in his shirt most of the ride. She refused to go into the freak show, no matter how hard Jack tried to persuade her. _"Oh lighten up! We gotta at least see the fat lady!"_ He won her a teddy bear at a fixed duck shooting gallery, and kissed her in a photo booth.

_Another good day! _

The event that stuck out most prominently in his mind though, had absolutely nothing to do with Jeannie. She'd wandered away to fix her hair in the ladies room, and left Jack sitting on a picnic table in a food court. There must have been at least fifty metal tables sporadically dispersed between food carts, and cotton candy stands, encircling a huge merry-go-round with brightly colored horses spinning in a never ending ellipse. It was old and creaked with every pass, and it's fuzzy, piped-in carny music filled the air. But, what he remembered best was its brass ring game. Not many carousels still had brass ring games; this one must have been one of the last in the country.

With every pass of the outside row of horses, the children would reach up to grab one of the rings, and then toss them at a target of a clown. If they knocked out the clowns teeth, they got a free ride. The anticipation was written all over their faces, as they hoped that their horse would rise at just the right time, so they could grasp one of the elusive rings.

As Jack continued his tramp up the lengthy driveway, he felt like one of those children. Only, his brass ring was peace and happiness. It seemed like as soon as the sensitive skin on the tips of his fingers would graze the oh-so-evasive prize, it would be snatched away.

It was so disheartening. What had he done, or not done, in his life to deserve so much to be placed upon his shoulders? Most of Jack's life, he took whatever blows came his way in stride. Momentarily knocked down, but not out. Battling his way back up. He was a man's man. He liked sports, beer, sex, and artery clogging food. Just a normal guy, trying to lead the most normal life that he could with the circumstances he had been given. Jeannie often called him the sanest man alive. But, as the universe insisted on burying him deeper and deeper under insane luck, he wondered how long he could keep the title that his wife had so generously bestowed upon him.

He felt his role starting to shift from kid playing a stupid carny game, to the clown getting his teeth knocked out.

As Jack came into view of the house a gruff, overweight beat cop threw up his hands and stormed in Jack's direction. "Whoa... whoa buddy! You can't just be walking through here. It's a crime scene and private property."

"It's my wife's parent's home," Jack said, sharply.

"Yeah... and who's your wife?"

"Jeanine Dupree... I mean Napier. W-we just got married," Jack said, apologetically to try to cover his mistake.

"And what's your name?"

Jack's gaze shifted to the open front door and the foyer beyond it. He could see Heylia frantically waving her hands as she spoke to a scrawny police officer who was obviously illiterate to her language. And there was Adele speaking with a detective, holding a handkerchief tightly against her mouth as huge tears streamed down her face.

"Hey buddy!" The cop pushed Jack's shoulder to get his attention. "What's your name?"

"Uh...uh... J-John Napier... but I go by Jack," he said, turning his bewildered eyes back to the fat cop in front of him

"You don't seem too sure about that."

"It's Jack, okay?" he snapped. "Can I please go through? My wife is in there. She's pregnant and I'm sure she's upset!"

After a long, thoughtful pause the cop took a step back. "Stay out of the way..."

Jack didn't bother to acknowledge the last statement and shoved his way through...past the fat cop, past the rows of police cars, past the pool of his vomit, still fresh on the front steps. His scalp began to tingle as his walked into the foyer and looked to his left. There was Rene's dead body still sitting in his wheelchair. His head hung backwards at an unnatural angle and his mouth gaped open. The left side of his skull was obliterated. Blood and gray matter covered his shirt, the floor, and the desk behind him. Even to Jack- who was not unfamiliar with all things gruesome- the scene was stomach turning.

_Oh God... and she has seen it all._

"Oh...oh. That's my son-in-law." Adele's voice pierced the air. "Jack! Jack, dear. Please come here." She reached a welcoming hand in his direction to beckon him over.

_She must be kidding._

"You're the son-in-law?" The detective questioning Adele, asked as Jack approached.

"Y-yes. I am." Jack's voice hitched as he felt Adele wrap her hands around his arm.

"And where were you tonight, Mr..uhhh?"

"Napier," Jack answered quickly as the wheels in his brain started to turn. Where was he tonight? Certainly not here! Certainly not shooting his disabled father-in-law in the head! _No! No! No!_

"Oh, Detective. I've already told you. Jack takes me to church on Wednesday evenings," Adele interrupted with a trembling, tear-field voice.

Jack's head snapped in her direction. _Holy shit! _She did put Sal up to it. And to top it off, she was covering for Jack. For her husband's murderer.

"After church, he dropped me off here at home, then left. I took a walk down to the beach before I went inside. He was long gone by the time I found my husband."

The detective's eyes narrowed. "Is that true, Mr. Napier?"

"Yes," Jack said, with a tiny nod. He was usually such a bad liar, but found it remarkably easy in this situation. Really, what was he supposed to say? "Do you need anything else from me?"

The detective gave him a hard, cynical scowl. Something felt fishy, but he didn't have any reason to question him further...at least not at that time. "I think I have all I need from you, since you were with her all night and left before the body was found."

Jack's eyes opened wider as he fully committed to the lie. "Well, if you think of anything else, I will be happy to help."

"Thank you, Mr. Napier."

Jack then gave Adele the most sympathetic expression he could conjure up. It was actually quite convincing. But, behind his supportive exterior, he boiled. _You bitch! You fucking, fucking bitch! You did this! You did this to your husband! To me! Your daughter!_ "Where's Jeannie, Mrs. Dupree?"

Her eyes darted to Jack, then around the room. "Oh I don't know dear. I've lost track of her, in all of this uproar." Her voice was uncharacteristically sweet and melodic. "But, I'm sure she's around here somewhere. She's very upset."

"I'll find her then," Jack said, keeping his condoling facade. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. It seemed caring to anyone on the outside, but the hatred pulsed from his fingers. _If only I was squeezing your neck. _He nodded to the detective, then walked away.

Adele's voice followed behind him, as she began to weep to the detective, "Oh my poor, poor René. He won't get to see our sweet grand-baby."

Jack winced at her last statement, but he shook it off. His search for Jeannie was short lived, and over as soon as it started. He could feel her eyes on him almost immediately. Not the loving, familiar gaze that she had giving him since they married, but rather a cold, judgmental stare. The way she looked at him when he was her bodyguard. Like he was an insect, unworthy to be sharing the same air.

He looked up to the second floor and found her sitting on the very top step, on the curved staircase. She looked over the second story landing, like a child eavesdropping on its parents. Her face planted between two handrail posts, and her body covered in shadowy darkness. His heart instantly twisted into a tight knot as they made eye contact, and he was met with nothing but blazing contempt. If looks could kill, he would be stone, cold dead.

He lagged as he climbed, trying to come up with the perfect thing to say.

_Nothing._

"Returnin' to the scene of the crime?" Her voice was cutting, as he stopped a few steps below her.

"Jeannie...I..."

"Don't say my name!" she said, cutting him off with a held up hand. "I told you, that I didn't want to look at you."

"I couldn't just leave you here. I'm not capable of abandoning you."

Her nose curled and a snort-y, sanctimonious laugh came from her mouth. "Oh, I think you are sellin' yourself short. I have learned tonight, that you're capable of more than most people. I am shocked by the things I have learned about you in the last hour... like I had no idea that you are such a big church goer? Is that what you do when you're 'workin' late'?"

"What do you want me to say?" He took a step closer to her.

"Stop!" She scooted herself backwards to further the distance between them. "I need to say somethin'. It has a shelf-life, and will expire at some point. But, I need to say it before I can have a conversation with you."

"Then say it."

"In this moment, I hate you. I hate you, and feel like killin' you," she said, tangling her fingers in her lap. "I won't always, but I do right now."

"If it's just for right now, then I guess I will have to live with it." He then walked up the rest of the stairs and sat down beside of her, putting his arm protectively over her shoulder and pulling her against him.

"Oh, Jack." She began to sob into his shirt. "Did she...did she... do this?"

He stayed quiet and placed a soft kiss atop her head.

His silence spoke volumes. She began to weep harder against his chest, soaking his shirt. "Did he know? Was he afraid?"

_Yes._

He took in a long breath, soaking in the smell of her hair. "He was asleep when I came in. He woke up right before...right before..." His voice trailed off. He couldn't finish the sentence. "He only knew for a split second. L-listen Jeannie, we can't talk about this."

"Seriously? You expect me not to have questions?" she said, looking up to meet his eye line.

"I know you have questions," he relented, "but, this is not something that you and I can talk about."

"We're married. We're supposed to be able to talk about anything."

"Unfortunately, in our marriage, my job is an off limits subject," he said, sucking his cheeks between his teeth and looking away.

She pulled away from his grasp. "That's not the type of marriage I want... full of secrets and dishonesty."

"I don't want to be dishonest with you," he said, timidly giving her a sideways glance. "It is just safer for you not to know."

"Whether I know or not, it's not safe. Daddy kept his job completely away from family life, and it still pushed us to another city and put a bullet through my arm and...well...his..."

Jack slumped forward as he put his hand on her knee. "Jeannie... I... I just can't have you looking at me like you are right now. I can't stand you looking at me, every time someone goes missing or a mob hit is in the news, like I am the one who did it. You CAN NOT ask me about my job."

"Why can't you find another job? Somethin' safe..."

"I...I made an oath to them Jeannie," he said, keeping his eyes turned from her, but his hand firmly grasping her knee cap. "When I joined, I made an oath that I entered alive, but would only leave dead."

"Until death do you part?"

"Until death do us part..." The irony was not lost on him. "Jeannie, you and Patrick come first. You always will. You just have understand that this is a part of my life that is separate from you."

She grabbed his chin and forced him to look her in the eye. "And when will I be a part of it? When will my head have a bounty on it? Your's? Patrick's?"

"Never," he said, emphatically with wide eyes. "It will never happen, Jeannie. I will make sure of it. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

He again looked away, as his eyes filled with a sick nostalgia. "Y' know... there was a time in my life when I hadn't killed anyone...no blood on my hands. There was even a time when I had no idea how to hold a gun. I didn't know that there are different makes and models of guns." There was a hint of a laugh tangled in his words. "I remember the first person I ever killed. I was eighteen years old. It was the first day of my first deployment. The helicopters dropped us in the middle of a field, and we were immediately told to run towards a line of trees for cover. At first everything was silent, and then suddenly there was a shot, then another, then another. We found ourselves dumped in a full scale fire fight." His grip on her knee began to tighten. "As we were running, I came across one of the so called enemy. He was young; we were probably the same age. I remember his face so well... he had blue eyes and brown hair... completely terrified, just like I was. He took aim at me at the exact moment that I took aim at him. It was going to be one of us; there was no choice about it. Just a matter of who was going to press the trigger first. I won that contest. Clean head shot." His fingers began to push into her skin, and his face blanched. "Then I started to run again. We were in a very dry climate, but there was mud everywhere. It was caking on our boots and splashing onto our pants as we ran. I couldn't understand where it was all coming from; we were told that there hadn't been rain in weeks. Then it seized me all at once. It was blood mixing with the dirt... not water. Not just moistening it, but making puddles... huge puddles. There were three hundred men killed that day. I must have killed at least thirty of them, and the only one that I remember is the first one. I see that kid all the time. In my dreams or walking down the street... he is always there."

Jeannie slapped her hand over his and began to pry his white-knuckled fingers from her flesh. "You're hurting me, Jack."

His head snapped in her direction. He was completely drained of color and he looked as if he was about to be sick. "Please don't hate me, Jeannie. You have to promise to love me... no matter what I have to do. For better or worse..."

"I am angry with you right now, Jack. I don't really hate you. I just hate what you have done. What you will do in the future."

Just as his lips parted to continue his pleas for forgiveness, there was a loud pop. Like the sound of metal joints snapping into place. Then he realized it was the gurney that René would be taken out on. _Shit... she can't see them wheel him out of here. _He put his hand tightly over her shoulders and tried to pull her to her feet. "Come on... let's go to your old bedroom and finish talking this out in there."

"No," she said through gritted teeth as she pulled from his grasp, and once again began to peer over the staircase to the foyer below.

Within moments, two men dressed in Corner's Office uniforms pushed the gurney into the foyer with a filled body-bag placed on top of it. Jeannie's face instantly filled with horror as the men began to take the body out of the house. It was as if her father's body leaving the house meant that it was really happening. Her father was dead. Her husband was the one who killed him. How was she supposed to reconcile it all in her head? How was she supposed to be married to the man who murdered the only parent she had who loved her? Sleep in the same bed as him? Raise his children? She abruptly stood as sobs began to choke in her throat, and stormed down the darkened second story hallway.

Jack was close on her heels, and followed her into an upstairs bedroom. He slammed the door behind them, and wrapped his arms around her waist, trying to comfort her. "Jeannie... I am so, so sorry, baby. I am so, so sorry."

She leaned into his embrace at first, hungry for the comfort that his touch brought her. But, soon she couldn't stand the feel of his skin. It struck her as vile that her father's still warm body was being removed from his home just one floor below, and his killer was in her bedroom with his arms wrapped around her. She began to struggle from his grasp and push away from his chest. "No! No, Jack. Don't touch me! Stop! I hate you!"

He kept his arms tightly around her. He wasn't going to let her go. He knew as soon as his hands left her body, that she would be gone... and maybe forever. "Don't hate me, Jeannie... please...please," he begged. "I didn't want to do it. I had to. If I didn't kill him, they would have killed you and Patrick. Made an example of me."

She laid a hard, stinging slap across his face, forcing him to let her go. She instantly placed protective hands over her pregnant stomach, and backed against an adjacent wall. "You're dangerous. Being around you is dangerous. You can promise, all you want, that you will keep us safe. But, you and I both know that you can't. I will have to look over my shoulder every time I simply take our son out of our apartment. Hell, we aren't even safe in our home... my daddy wasn't."

He stayed back and kept a cautious eye on her. Like she was a wounded, cornered animal that could strike out at the simplest of provocations. "What are you saying, Jeannie? You don't want to be married to me?"

Her eyes cast to the floor and she pressed her body closer to the wall. "I do, but I don't want to be afraid. I don't want to wonder who you've killed. I don't want to go to funerals and watch families grieve, and question if you are the cause of it all. I am afraid for my life, and most of all, Patrick's."

He bit his lower lip as his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't know what to say. You knew what I did when you married me. This shouldn't be a surprise."

"It's hit close to home."

"Maybe we should just sleep on it. You shouldn't make any decisions right now," he said, flatly. "Let's go home, and you can think this out when you have a clear head."

She thought for a moment, then her head began to shake to the contrary. "No, I don't want to go home with you. I think you should leave," she mumbled, as she continued to look at the floor.

A wave of anger rushed through him that made his skin tingle. "You are going to stay here with her?"

"She's my mother."

"She is the one who set this all in motion!" he shouted. He found it incredibly hard not to grab her and try to shake the sense back into her.

"Yes, and you're the one who carried it through. I guess in this moment, I have to pick the lesser of two evils. And if it comes down to a choice between the woman who loaded the gun, or the man who pulled the trigger on my wheelchair bound father... well... you do the math."

"You are so fucked up, Jeannie," he said, though a sneer.

Her eyes finally met his. "Remember, people who live in glass houses, shouldn't throw stones. I want you to leave."

A dismayed smile pulled at his lips as he turned away and began to leave. As he grabbed the door knob and slung open the door he felt as dejected as the night she broke up with him in the back of the Midtown Ballet. But this time, rather than storming off like a child about to have a tantrum, he paused and looked back to her, over his shoulder. "I love you, Jeannie. I want you to come home to me. I will be there waiting, when you are ready. Take your time." He waited for her response, but when nothing came, he dropped his head forward and left.

Again, he missed the brass ring.

René was gone and the police cars were pulling away by the time Jack re-entered the foyer. Adele was showing the detective to the door, and Heylia had disappeared somewhere within the house.

"Thank you, Mrs. Dupree. We will be in touch," the Detective said, then looked from Adele to Jack. "Mr. Napier."

Jack nodded in response. He didn't have it in him to actually speak. He wasn't sure how he was feeling at the moment. The little family he had built for himself was tumbling down around him. Jeannie was questioning her decision to marry him- and really, who could blame her? What if she decided that the risks of being attached to him were too great? The son that he was waiting so impatiently for would only be in his life part time. There would be no going home at night to a waiting wife, and drooling baby boy. He could quite possibly miss Patrick's first steps; first words. His heart felt like it was flaking off one piece at time.

The click of the front door closing behind the detective, made something snap inside of Jack. He felt his fingers begin to curl and his ears began to ring as his blood pressure rose. Adele's skinny neck was within arm's reach. Jeannie was already wrestling with the decision whether to stay the course with him or not. Why not make the decision for her? Why not snap the neck of the bitch who was the root cause of it all. The cause of Jeannie's icy personality. Her pain. Her distrust. The cause of Jack's now empty apartment and life.

"Thank you, Jack." Adele's voice changed from grieving wife, to triumphant harlot in the blink of an eye. She took a cigarette from her purse that sat upon a door side table, and casually placed it between her lips before lighting it. "I requested that Sal pay you more for this hit than he usually does. I've even pitched in some extra money. Since you and Jeannie have a baby on the way, I am sure you need it. I try to be generous when I can. What are you two namin' _it_ again? Peter?"

"You are a monster." Jack's voice was low and guttural. "How could you do that to him?"

"I didn't do anything to him," she said, taking the cigarette from her lips. "That was you."

"You know I had to. You know that Sal would have killed Jeannie. Who is your daughter in case you have forgotten."

His mind began to race. He wanted to break her in two, feel the life seeping from her body beneath his fingers... and he easily could have. She was willowy and frail, like Jeannie. He could pick Jeannie up with one arm... he was certain he could do the same to Adele. His car sat outside and he had an extra set of keys in his pocket. He could put one hand over Adele's mouth and scoop her up in the other arm, and take her out of the house without Jeannie or Heylia knowing.

He had never killed a woman before. Could he do it?

This woman?

Yes!

He could throw her in the trunk and take her to the docks. There he could do whatever he wanted. He could cleanly shoot her, then throw her body in the bay... let nature take its course. Or he could get some real enjoyment out of it. He could tie her up with the piles of boating rope that lay around in every dock house, then find something to use as a gag. Then he could tie her feet to an anchor or dry them in quick setting cement, and throw her off the end of one of the piers. She would sink directly to the bottom, and the harder she struggled the tighter her binds would become. Within a few minutes, her lungs would fill with water and she would be dead. Dead at the bottom to become food for crabs and other bottom dwellers. That's where she belonged, because that is what she was...

A bottom dweller.

His mind was made up. That was what he was going to do. Let her drown. Let her feel complete terror as the realization that she was going to die a terrible death, overtook her.

A grotesque smile crossed his face as the thought of her writhing and struggling to get free, filled his mind. The image of fewer and fewer bubbles making it to the water's surface as her life gasped for air as it left her body, made his insides quiver with some unnamed emotion.

What was it?

It was a feeling that he was not entirely familiar with, and it completely choked out the utter desperation he felt moments earlier.

Then its name hit him as his smile broadened.

Glee... complete, unadulterated glee.

Adele's expression fell as his changed into one of such unnatural joy. "W-what are lookin' so happy for?"

"Why wouldn't I be happy, dear, dear mother-in-law?" His voice sounded odd in his ears. Like it belonged to someone else.

The uncertainty on her face just strummed his giddiness. A horrific cackle worked its way from the deepest, darkest pits of Jack's soul and filled up the space around them. It too sounded as if it belonged to someone else. Some demonic madman that was sleeping in Jack's subconscious, just waiting to be unleashed.

He felt this unseen specter move in him many, many times throughout his life.

The first time was when he was a child. His mother had been dead two weeks, and he was simply standing in his backyard, throwing a baseball against a tree. Out of nowhere, the drunken thing, that called itself his father, came up behind him and struck him across the back of the skull with a chunk of firewood. His vision went black and the gash in his flesh gushed so copiously that blood dripped into his shoes. He collapsed in a pile onto the blood soaked grass beneath him, and was left there without any help from his father. He woke at some point in the middle of the night, soaked to the bone by rain from a passing storm.

Back then, he had his sister to hold back whatever laid in wait inside of him. In high school it was Marybeth who held up the flood gates. During the war, it flowed a little more freely with every kill he made. Then it was almost completely smothered when he met Jeannie. She became his sanity. When she touched him, he would feel the vicious beast inside of him quiet... as if it too was pacified by the soft tips of her fingers. His inner demon began to wake up once again, when she left for Chicago. He fought it, tooth and nail, for his humanity. It almost won, but was beaten back by the kiss of an old girlfriend and the sweet embrace of his sister. Then it was completely choked out by the reemergence of his beautiful ballerina and the sound of his son's heartbeat.

But, now as the possibility of Jeannie leaving him for good seemed inevitable, the creature started to stir. The thought of never tasting her lips again, made its eyes peel open. The idea of never feeling his body move within her's again, made it stretch its stiff limbs and begin to stand. No more wife... limited time with his son. It was winning. Laughing at him. Jack Napier was dying and being replaced with something evil. His humanity was seeping from him like water through a sieve.

And Adele Dupree was going to catch all of the fury that had been lying dormant for so many years.

A scream hitched in in Adele's throat as she watched the transformation taking place in front of her. Even the stance and shape of his body changed. The young man that she had watched her daughter fall in love was such a strange mixture of personalities, but never threatening. He was good-hearted, but always brooding and conflicted, with a twinge of self-doubt mixed in. She took a step backwards as she watched him size her up; make his plan.

It was terrifying.

Even though his face was bathed in what could only be described as mirth... a smattering of emotions burned behind his eyes. Not just focused at her, but at every injustice and raw deal that he had ever suffered. Rage, disappointment, rejection, hopelessness, pain, and loneliness... each were being manifested across his demeanor as...as... merriment.

As though he was going to thoroughly enjoy every misery he was going to bring upon her.

Another laugh poured out of him as he watched her recoil when he took a step towards her. What did he have to lose? His prize, his brass ring, his happiness had been torn away from his grasp one too many times. He didn't even have the desire to try to reach for it again the next time it came around. He couldn't handle the disappoint of losing it one more time. The only desire for happiness he now held was sick and twisted...

… and could only be satiated by spilling blood.

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><p><strong>Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing! And thank you, Anonymous Rex, for describing Jack's life events as a merry-go-round in your last review, because that definitely gave me ideas for this chapter! <strong>

**Also, obviously you all are fans of Joker origin stories if you are reading this story. I recently read a story by one of my reviewers, EthanFlux, entitled "Joker 1: The Start of a Joke". It offers another perspective on how our favorite villain came to be. So if you are interested, go check it out, and give EthanFlux some encouragement! And if you are a fan of Nolan's version of the Scarecrow, please check out Duchess of Decorum's story "Chronophobia"! Really interesting story!**

**Until next time...**


	16. Chapter 15

**I hope you all are having a fantastic summer thus far! Wear your sunscreen! Anyway, thank you for reading, and thank you to Anonymous Rex, Duchess of Decorum, Han, and EthanFlux for reviewing! You guys are awesome! I am truly grateful and overwhelmed by your response! **

**Please enjoy!**

**Han- Thank you for taking some time to leave me a review! I really appreciate that! Since you have been reading from the beginning, you have definitely been there through the good, bad, and ugly! I truly appreciate it, and I hope you and your friends continue to enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 15- <strong>

The last few hours of her life, left her breathless and confounded. How had she allowed herself to get involved with someone like Jack Napier? She was a smart girl; she should have never crossed the line with him. Her flirtations started out innocent enough- just a girl playing cat and mouse with a boy. She never expected to fall in love with the boy… or become pregnant with his child… or marry him. It all just got so out of control; a force she couldn't stop. Now she was dealing with the consequences- she played with fire, and was burned. But, who was she really angry with?

Jack? Her mother? Herself?

Jack was right… she did know what he did for a living when she agreed to marry him. It was not something that she expected to hit so close to home, though. She should have thought things through a little better before she accepted his marriage proposal. She just got so caught up in the moment. Fresh out of surgery to set her broken bones, and their baby given a clean bill of health... her mind wasn't firing on all cylinders when he pulled a lackluster ring with a flake of diamond set proudly atop it, from his pocket. He looked so sincere and hopeful when he knelt down on one knee next to her hospital bed. How could she say no? She didn't want to say no. She loved him then, and loved him still. She didn't want to send him back to their Bowery apartment by himself, but she couldn't make herself leave with him. It seemed like a slap in the face to her beloved father to go home with, and sleep next to the man who ended his life.

Then she was struck with the oddest feeling. One that she was completely ashamed of. Much to her horror, there was a part of her that wanted to thank Jack. The father that she grew up with, would've never wanted to spend his days incapacitated and wearing adult diapers, while receiving spoon feedings and sponge baths. Jack freed her father from the prison his body had become.

It was almost a mercy killing.

A frustrated, angry groan pushed past her lips as she laid, flat on her back, in the middle of her old bed, staring up at the ceiling, and contemplating when things in her life began to take a turn.

Why was it always something?

Why couldn't they just be happy?

There were so many unanswered questions, but one thing was for sure… everything was a whole hell of a lot easier before she knew Jack Napier…

There was a time in her life when she was a frivolous girl, who only cared about point-shoes and purses. Her entire life revolved around ballet practices and curtain calls. How trouble-free those times were. Boys from the South were so much less complicated, than their city counterparts. She remembered how sweet and unfussy her first real, honest-to-goodness kiss was. She was fourteen and wearing strawberry lip gloss. The boy's name was Mark, and he was nervous and his hands fumbled from her shoulders, to her arms, to her waist. His kiss tasted of Coca-Cola and a cheap cigarette that he had bummed from a friend. She lost her virginity to the same boy three years later. It awkwardly took place in a backyard pool house and was sweaty, quiet, and lasted twenty-eight seconds.

Life was once so…simple…

She yearned for that time. And to think, it wasn't that long ago.

The downward spiral of her life started with the first step into this ostentatious shell of a house. As she stared at the stippling on the ceiling, she tried to remember why she chose this room, out of the seven others on the second floor. Maybe because it was small, and womb-like, like her room in New Orleans. Maybe just because it was the farthest away from her mother's. Either way, it was her only safe-haven in her new home. Gotham was supposed to be a new start…new career…new people.

New life…

And oh boy was it a new life. The sun kissed, sticky legs of southern summer humidity, and carefree days of sneaking out in the middle of the night to skinny dip with her friends in the river were gone, and replaced by crime-ridden streets and over flowing dumpsters.

Bruce Wayne was supposed to be a silver lining amongst the squalor of the city. Something to take her back to a simpler time. But, he turned out to be the walking personification of complicated. Everything was a game of chase with him. As soon as she thought she was making some headway into his oh-so-busy life, she would be left wanting in his dust. She always felt like she was just one step too slow. If she even thought of slowing down, she would have been left behind and forgotten about. And that is exactly what eventually happened.

She just couldn't keep up.

She stuck her left hand straight up in the air and looked at her wedding band snuggled next to her engagement ring. Oh her dear, sweet Jack. He tried so hard, but could never quite get his footing. She remembered the ping of the gilded elevator doors opening in the Gotham Plaza Hotel, and stepping out onto the pearly, white marble floors. At the end of the hallway was a man sitting outside the ballroom doors. From a distance he was nothing, but a lowly driver for someone who could buy or sell him. But, as she approached, and his bright green eyes met her blue, she couldn't stop herself from speaking to him. That lowly driver turned out to be one of the most charming men she had ever met. His words were smooth and measured, with just the right amount to shyness mixed in. He stirred something deep within her.

Dammit…why didn't she just keep walking?

Maybe it would have been easier to keep walking when she found him on her front steps a few weeks later. Maybe staying away from him completely would have been easier, had she never heard his laugh or witnessed his smile.

Then the day her father called her into the foyer to meet the man he hired to protect her from all the "crazy" people in the city, sprung to mind. It was not an idea that she was fond of, but one that Rene was not going to let go. She remembered how her heart stopped when she walked down the stairs to find that tall, lanky driver with green eyes standing in her home.

"Jeannie… this is Mr. Napier. He is going to be escortin' you around the city from now on." Her father was quite proud of his find. "Sal speaks very highly of him."

"We've met," she said, walking in front of Jack while placing her hands on her hips and raising her chin.

"Miss Dupree," Jack said with a nod.

She peered at him with condescending, hooded eyes. "You'll do, I suppose."

She tried to sink her body deeper into the bed as a shiver ran up her spine- how despicably she had treated him. She acted as if he was nothing more than a coat rack, there merely to hold her purse. He saw her at her worst- every bitchy moment, or spoiled girl tantrum. Yet, somehow he still showed up every day with the resolve to take a bullet for her, if need be.

And somehow, in spite of it all, he fell in love with her.

He was everything that Bruce was not, and it strummed her ego. She knew that he wanted her; his carnal, primal desires were bright in his eyes every time he looked at her. She couldn't pass up the game. She would stand a little too closely to him. Let her fingers linger on his skin when she would _accidentally_ touch him. Bite her bottom lip seductively as they made eye contact. It was fun to be desired, and it fulfilled a need that she didn't even know she had.

Just a girl, flirting with a boy… innocent enough. Right?

A half sob, half gasp escaped from her throat as she rolled to her side and ran her fingers over the empty pillow and down the duvet cover. It was right here, on this bed, that she realized that she was in love with him for the first time. She was still with Bruce at the time, and she'd changed her mind about going out for the day before practice. Instead she opted to stay at home and read a book in her room. Rather than making multiple trips from her home, to his apartment, and back again, Jack decided to stay with her. At some point in the middle of that lazy afternoon, he spread out on the bed next to her, and fell asleep.

The sounds of his soft snores made her look up from her book. Just as she was about to send an annoyed punch into his ribs, she noticed how young and carefree he looked in his sleep. His hat was pushed down over his eyes and his tie hung loosely from his neck. She suddenly had the urge to feel his skin against her own. She scooted closer to him, then ran her fingers over his jaw line and down his neck to his chest. She could feel his ribs and his atrophied muscles through his shirt- perhaps at one time he had been in good shape. At that moment, she never wanted anything more in her life than to kiss him. Her lips tingled and a dull, needy ache pulsated in her heart.

Just as she shifted forward to bring her lips to his, his eyes snapped open with a start. "W-what's wrong? Jeannie, what's wrong.?"

Her hand instinctively pulled away from his chest as she sat back. "Nothin'… nothin' at all. Just go back to sleep." As she watched his worried eyes scan the room then finally settle on her, and his lips pull into a crooked grin, her heart started to beat a little faster_. _

_Oh no! No…no…no! I can't feel this way. Not about him…_

Just as the memories were about to be too much for her to bear, and she was ready to let herself disintegrate into a quivering ball of emotions… she heard a scream.

A scream from her mother…

_Why is it always something?_

She didn't get in much of a hurry as she swung herself from the bed. Her bulging stomach and still healing leg would have just slowed her efforts anyway. _Oh, Momma just bein' dramatic again. _Adele was probably just hamming it up for the detectives- wailing in faux agony. Nothing to worry about. But, as she swung open the door, she realized how wrong she was.

She could feel it the moment she stepped into the hallway.

There was a change in the atmosphere of the house; something insidious and sinister had taken up residence. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and goosebumps rose on every inch of here bare skin. Had she been able to run, she would have broken into a full on sprint.

As Jeannie reached the landing above the cavernous foyer, she was stopped dead in her tracks by what she saw. There was her mother, plastered against the front door, her face contorted into an expression of utter terror. Her body seemed to be frozen in its place, and blanched of all color. And in front of her was Jack. Or, at least what looked like Jack. His body seemed taller, somehow more angular and sharp. Madness radiated off his being. He wasn't the same man. Not her husband.

Not at all.

And his intentions were evident in his tightly curled fingers, and heaving shoulders. He was going to kill Adele Dupree.

It was just up to Jeannie to choose whether to stop him… or just let it happen.

Did she want to stop him?

For the slightest of moments, Jeannie's subconscious threw up its hands. _Let him. Let him tear her apart. _It would be completely gratifying to see her go through as much pain and fear as she had caused. But, just as Jeannie was about to let the chips fall where they may, the voice of reason won out. She loved Jack and wanted to spend her life with him. She could forgive him for killing her father, and strangely be grateful for it. She could explain it away as his inappropriate way of protecting her from the life she had married into. But, if he killed her mother, it would be out of pure hatred. She couldn't explain that away as a misplaced sense of gallantry... no matter how much she may have wanted to. She wouldn't be able to get over it, and she would always hold the fear that one day he may hate her enough to kill her too.

"JACK!" she shouted, before she could stop herself.

He didn't even flinch. He was completely oblivious to his surroundings other than the harpy, that he was about to decapitate, in front of him.

Jeannie felt a rush of panic surge through her. "JACK!" she shouted again. "STOP!"

Again, nothing.

She began to descend the stairs as hastily as her bum leg would allow. With each step a sharp pain of protest would shoot up her leg and remind her of the increasing urgency of the situation. He was like a snake curled up and reared back, waiting to strike. "Jack… please stop," she pleaded through winded breath as she stepped off the last stair and onto the marble floor.

No response…

_Oh, God…why won't he listen to me?_

Finally, she reached him and grabbed his arm. She was taken aback by how rigid his body had become... like a board, or a corpse. It took all of her might to turn him in her direction.

As soon as he felt her touch, the garish grin stretching across his face fell into an impassible line, but he- Jack- was not back. His eyes seemed feral and savage, as his gaze darted up and down her body, trying to place her. The lines on his face twisted into an expression of sheer confusion. This woman was somebody he should know, but he couldn't recall anything about her. Her voice, her face, her touch... it was all familiar, but inexplicably foreign. She was pregnant… that was obvious. Something sparked in his mind… that baby… it was his baby.

_It's a boy. Patrick. But, what is this woman's name? It starts with a G… no a J._

_Jenny… no no no… that's not it. It's something like that, though._

His jaw dropped, as if he was completely bemused by his surroundings. He couldn't even come up with his own name at the moment. He thought it started with a J, too. The complete merriment he felt moments earlier was gone, and replaced by a mixture of terror and uncertainty.

"JACK!" she shouted once more, closing the distance between them and lightly placing both her hands against either side of his face. As soon as her skin met his, his eyes tightly clasped shut, as if he was in extreme pain. "Look at me, Jack! Look at me! It's me! Jeannie! Your wife! Please, look at me!"

_Jeannie… that's it…that's her name. Jeannie… my beautiful ballerina._

There was a low growl humming in his chest as she gently stroked his face, as if the creature inside of him was being lulled back to sleep by her voice; it too placated by her soft touch. His bloodshot eyes suddenly snapped open… and Jack was back.

His body began to violently tremble as he got his bearings. The last few minutes of his life were gone; a complete unknown. "W-what's happening?" His voice was small, and disoriented.

Jeannie shook her head as she tried to come up with an answer. She had never seen him like this before, and hoped to never see it again. "You're okay. I'm here and you're okay."

"Jeannie…stay away from him," Adele said with a shaky voice. Her tone actually came across as motherly and worried for her daughter's safety...

"Go Momma," Jeannie said, barely above a whisper, as she ran a hand through Jack's tousled hair.

"Jeannie…" Adele's voice was more urgent as she stepped across the room and grabbed Jeannie arm, pulling it with panic throbbing from her fingers.

Jeannie pulled away from her mother's grasp, without taking her eyes from Jack. "GO! MOTHER!" Her words were deliberate, and said through gritted teeth.

Adele hesitated. "Jeannie, he was going to kill me."

"And, maybe I should have let him." Jeannie finally turned her steely, blue gaze to Adele. "Go now."

Again, Adele balked but with a concerned glance at Jack, soon relented to her daughter's firm stance, and reluctantly pulled herself out of the foyer and up the stairs.

"Jack, are you with me now?" Jeannie asked, allowing her hands to slip down to his chest.

"Y-yes." His voice seemed uncertain. "I don't know what happened to me…"

She looked up into his green eyes and felt at a loss for words. She didn't know what to do next. The version of her husband that just flashed before her was chilling, and she couldn't deny the fear that was beginning to fill her. Fear for her own well-being, but mostly for Jack's. Though it was unseemly to leave with her father's murderer, she didn't want to leave him alone. He wasn't well and he needed her…_for better, or worse._

"Jack, let's go-"

"No!" His eyes grew large, and round as he anticipated her next words. He desperately knotted his fingers in her hair, and put his forehead against hers. "You can't go with me. I'm sorry, but you can't…"

She winced as his fingers pulled at her hair. "W-what? Why? You shouldn't be alone. Not now."

"Please…please." His tone was raw and unhinged as his fingers tightened in her hair. "Don't argue this with me. I don't know what happened to me… and I am afraid…" He stopped and his lips pulled into a disgusted sneer. "I'm afraid I might hurt you."

All of the air left her lungs as the full weight of his words hit her. He was afraid that he could hurt her? Jack would never hurt. Not for any reason in the world… he would sooner die. "I know you won't," she said pushing her body against his.

He loosened his grip on her and took a step back. His hands hung listlessly at his sides and he looked shamefully at his feet. "I..I don't want to take the chance. Just stay here for a few days…"

"Jack…"

"PLEASE!" His entire stance looked as if he had been beaten to a pulp by whatever unseen force had taken hold of him. For a split second he looked up to her and it seemed like he was contemplating giving her a goodbye kiss, but then he thought better. If he touched her, he wouldn't be able to leave her. She would be in danger, and he couldn't allow it. Without saying another word or giving her a second glance, he took another step back and disappeared out the front door.

And with that Jeannie's legs began to tremble and gave out beneath her, leaving her in a crumpled pile of tears…

Some for her father…

And some for her husband…

Her sweet, tormented husband… who was so very lost and alone.

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><p>"Mrs. Napier," a tall, good-looking, middle aged man greeted as he walked through his office door. "I'm Dr. Bartlett. How are you today?"<p>

"I'm very well… a little nervous… but well," Jeannie said, with a forced smile.

"No need to be nervous… this is all at your own pace." He sat across from her and gave her a warm smile as he took out a notepad. "Forgive me, but I normally do couples counseling… where is your husband?"

Jeannie twisted her fingers together in her lap and looked away. "He doesn't know that I am here."

"Is he unsupportive of counseling?"

She looked up quickly, feeling the sudden need to defend Jack. "Oh no… that's not it at all. He is very supportive. When I mentioned it to him, he was hesitant at first, but agreed to it in the end. I just wanted to come by myself at first and figure out what I need to fix."

He clicked his pen against his thumb, then made a note on his paper. "That sounds reasonable enough. Why don't you start by telling me a little bit about your marriage."

She smiled shyly, not sure of where to start. "Well… Jack and I have been married for eleven years. We have three children…well… four countin' this one."

"Fourth pregnancy," he said to himself as he made another note.

"Erh… no. Fifth pregnancy, actually."

"Fifth pregnancy?" he asked, looking at her over his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Yes, I was pregnant when we got married…" She stopped and began to chew on her lip.

He gave her a long, please-continue stare.

She felt his eyes on her and quickly shook her head. "I don't talk about that."

"The purpose of being here is to talk."

"Not about that. Maybe someday, but not now…" She began to feel herself shut down. What was she thinking coming here? Things were going so well at home… this wasn't necessary.

He sighed, sensing her trepidation, then mercifully changed the subject. "I was looking through your medical record, Mrs. Napier, and read that you had a suicide attempt last year. Then you were diagnosed with postpartum depression and postpartum schizophrenia. Is all of that correct?"

"Yes," she said in a hushed tone as she rubbed her fingers across her angry red scars.

Again, he scribbled something down on the notepad. "Is there a history of mental illness in your family?"

"My mother… she had both bipolar disorder and schizophrenia." Her face hardened. "When I was three she tried to kill herself because she was hearin' voices. Voices that were tellin' her to kill _me. _She wanted to stop herself before she went through with it." She began to nervously make tiny circles in the leather couch with her index finger. "She spent the next two years in a mental institution, and when she finally came home she was a completely different person. She treated me like I was a burden or garbage. Like it was all my fault."

"Is your relationship still strained?"

Jeannie eyes began to sparkle with amusement. "No… not at all. She died last year."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be." Her voice began to crack into a giggle. "We have the best relationship we've ever had now. I can talk, and say what I want... and she can't say anything back! It's perfect! Two days after I tried to kill myself last year, she came to the hospital and told me how bad of a mother I was. That if my husband had any sense at all, he would take our children and leave me." Despite her best efforts, Jeannie couldn't stop her growing laughter. "Then she walked out of my hospital room and promptly had a massive heart-attack and hit the floor dead." She looked up and noticed the puzzled look on Dr. Bartlett's face. "Oh, I'm sorry…I…I sometimes have very inappropriate reactions. If you knew my mother, you would understand why I think it is so funny."

"Was that your only suicide attempt, Mrs. Napier?"

Her laughter started to die, and again her face became deathly somber. "No. No it was my fourth."

"Will you tell me about them?"

She nodded slowly, then began to tap her foot. "The first time, I was seven." She looked up quickly and gently held up her hand. "Now… I have told other doctors about that before, and they have all said that it doesn't count because there is no way that a seven year old could make the conscious decision to end their life. So please, don't waste your breath. I knew what I was doing. It was a Sunday evening… my family went to church that mornin' and in Sunday School, we were taught about heaven, and how wonderful it would be. I couldn't get it out of mind… I wanted to go so badly. My life at home was horrible, and I just wanted to go somewhere… somewhere different. So that evenin' I ran to a train-trestle near my home, and I went to the very edge, closed my eyes, and just let go. I even had an article written about me in the paper." She waved her hand in the air, as if she were reading a headline. "ORLEANS PARISH GIRL SURVIVES FALL FROM TRAIN-TRESTLE… I didn't fall though. I jumped! Jumped head first… walked away without a scratch."

She looked up to find Dr. Bartlett staring at her with his mouth pulled into a tight line.

She gave him a slight, apologetic, I-know-you-think-I'm-crazy grin, then reluctantly continued. "I was sixteen the second time. A boy that I thought I loved started datin' another girl, and I didn't take it very well. I drove my car into a retainin' wall… again, I walked away without a scratch… the car didn't fare as well though. I hardly even count that instance… it was all very dramatic and fully driven by overactive hormones. I thought I would never love again."

Dr. Bartlett remained silent as he wrote a long note.

"The last attempt was very well thought out. After my daughter, Maggie, was born I completely lost touch with reality. I didn't eat or drink for months… I just lay in bed and cried. My oldest daughter stopped goin' to school so she could take care of her baby sister. She was cleanin' our apartment, and cookin' dinner. She would get me out of bed before my husband would arrive home, and pretty me up. She covered for me." Her voice cracked. "No little girl should go through that. Finally, the school contacted my husband and… well… he was very angry with me. There wasn't any hidin' from it anymore. _'You're just like your mother!' _he shouted it at me over and over again. He was right… I was just like her. I couldn't be like her. I couldn't do to my children, what she did to me. So the next night he had to work late… I spent that entire day cookin' meals for my family and puttin' them in the freezer, so Jack wouldn't have to worry about food for the kids for a while. Then I put my children to bed and laid towels down on the floor around the bathtub, so there wouldn't be a big mess to clean up. I went to the kitchen and picked the sharpest knife, filled the bathtub full of water, took off my clothes, and sunk down into it. I sat there for a long time thinkin' about what it would feel like, and if my family would be better off. Thinkin' that I should have written notes to each of my children, maybe one for Jack, too. Apologized to him. Then, before I could lose my nerve, I dug the knife into my left wrist and sliced," she said, mindlessly reenacting the motion with her hands. "Blood started pourin' from it so quickly that I couldn't take my eyes away. It didn't hurt though… it actually felt good. Like a much needed release. Then I took the knife and did the same thing to my right wrist."

"Who found you?" The sound of Dr. Bartlett's voice startled her from the memory.

"Jack found me. I don't know how long I had been lying there… it was all so fuzzy after I lost so much blood…but I remember hearin' him come through the front door and check on our kids. We lived in a one bedroom apartment, so we made a makeshift room for our children out of strung up blankets in our livin' room, so it didn't take long. Then I heard our bedroom door open and he said my name… then he pushed open the bathroom door and panicked. He grabbed me, roughly enough to leave bruises, by my shoulders and pulled me out of tub. Then he laid me down on the towels, and started to wrap up my wrists. Then he shouted for our daughter, Heather. He needed her to call for an ambulance while he tried to keep me from bleedin' to death."

Her eyes filled with tears at the memory of Jack trying to keep his hoarse, completely unnerved voice calm as he instructed Heather. _"I need you to go to the phone and dial 911... No don't cry honey… mommy just had an accident… she will be fine…"_

"That's three…"

"What?"

"You said that you have had four suicide attempts. What is the fourth?"

Her eyes became foggy, and her thoughts seemed to be far away. "I don't talk about that one… nobody knows about it. Nobody, but me and God. His wrath is enough for me… I don't want Jack's as well. He would hate me if he knew. It happened a long time ago... and... and... he would hate me."

Dr. Bartlett gave a small nod of understanding. No need to push her…no just yet. "When you cut your wrists, did you want to be found?"

Her face smoothed with relief as she realized he was going to move on. "Maybe part of me did, but now I don't know. I caused a lot of broken hearts and strife. We moved to a new house, and the kids had to leave their friends and go to a new school. I've pushed Jack away… to the point that at one time he was only comin' home a couple of nights a week. I treated him like it was his fault. He drinks too much, and I wanted to blame that. I picked fights with him just to do it. Just to see how far I could push him…" Her voice trailed off as she remembered the night he balled his fist and gave a mean right-hook to the refrigerator. "Had he been five minutes later that night, it would have all been over. He and kids would be free of me. Jack is not a man who can be alone… he needs someone to take care of him. He is constantly losing his socks, and if someone is not there to tell him where they are…well, then he would never find them. I'm sure he would have met someone else by now. Someone very sweet, that would take care of him and my children."

Dr. Bartlett pursed his lips then let out a sad sigh. "Do you want to be dead?"

"Not now… no. I just want to be better. A better wife. Better mother. Better me. I'm tryin' really hard. Jack and I haven't fought in a long time. I don't want to fight with him. Today is his thirty-fifth birthday, and I am throwin' him a surprise party… he doesn't know anything about it," she added with a proud smile. "But, no matter how well things go, I just keep rememberin' the day after he pulled me from the tub, when I was in the hospital… he was so angry with me…" She stopped. "Do you have children Dr. Bartlett?"

"I do."

"Then I'm sure you've been in a store with them before, and you turn around for the blink of an eye, and then when you look back they're gone. You have an all-consuming rush of panic. You think you've lost them. And, then you find them hidin' in a rack of clothes… you're so angry when you see that they are okay. They've scared you so badly, that you just want to shake them for puttin' you through it. That's how Jack was that day. He was so afraid that he had lost me, but it all came out as anger. _If it weren't for the kids, I would wish that I had never married you. Never met you! How could you be so stupid and selfish? How could you do that with our children in the next room? What if one of them would've found you first? What if something would have happened to one of them, and they needed you? You don't care about them at all!"_

Dr. Bartlett rested his chin on his fist then, gave Jeannie a long, pointed glance. "Mrs. Napier, I've learned so much about you, but I still don't know why exactly you're here now… these problems have been going on for a long time… why now?"

Jeannie's eyes rounded as a frantic chill rushed over her skin. She cleared her throat, and put her hands over her stomach. "I'm afraid I'm losin' my family… afraid that I am losin' my mind. My greatest fear is to become my mother…I told you that she heard voices… well…

…I've started hearin' them too."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Take care, until next time!<strong>


	17. Chapter 16

**Hello everyone! I hope you all are well! In this chapter you will be exposed to a lot of Jack's neighbors. You haven't read about them since chapter seven, so I am hoping that you haven't completely forgotten them by now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And thanks for reading and reviewing as always!**

**Han- Thanks for the reviews! I hope this satiates your withdrawals lol!**

**Rex- I am so excited that you have had the opportunity to watch Mask of the Phantasm! It is definitely one of my favorite Batman movies. I watch that movie very often while writing this story, and have tried to imagine these events fitting into the background of that movie. Thanks as always!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 16-<strong>

"Now, pretend like you're surprised, okay? She has been planning this for a while and it means a lot to her," Frankie pleaded, as he turned to Jack.

A long, exasperated sigh leaked out between Jack's teeth as he peeled his eyes from his home, and shifted them to his well-meaning friend. It was statements like that, that made Jack seriously consider punching Frankie in the face. Of course, Jack knew how important this surprise party was to Jeannie. She was his wife for Christ's sake. He didn't need Frankie to inform him of it. He had walked in on countless hushed phone calls that would abruptly end when his presence was noticed. He had watched her scurry from neighbor's house, to neighbor's house, making plans and doing her damndest to make sure Jack knew nothing about it. She would have succeeded too, had Jane Willis kept her big mouth shut. Poor Jeannie, would be heartbroken if she knew that Jack was more than aware of her plans, and that all of her hard work was for nothing.

But, rather than spewing all of it out at Frankie, Jack simply raised his eyebrows and gave a slight nod. Tonight was a good night… a night that he could overlook the stupidity that so often rained from his good-hearted partner's mouth.

It may have seemed like Frankie was over stepping his bounds, but he was just watching out for Jack; being protective of the only true friend he'd ever had. Frankie had been there through it all. He had witnessed every peak and valley of the Napier family, and for the first time in the over twelve years that he had known Jack, he seemed truly happy. It was a delicate balance that Frankie was hell-bent on keeping stable. It was a charge that Frankie had placed upon his own shoulders since the night that Jack had called him from the Emergency Room at Gotham General, asking for his wife, Tonya, to come watch the children because Jeannie had been in an accident.

Frankie could remember the woosh of the sliding glass doors opening, and finding a bewildered Jack slumping in a chair, holding a then infant Maggie in one arm, while splaying the other across the shoulders of his weeping older children. He was taking careful measure to be touching all of them at once, and giving them the best comfort that he could.

He was a good dad.

"I'll take them to the cafeteria," Tonya said, in her calmest voice, as she raced past Frankie and took Maggie from Jack's arms.

"Yeah… Yeah…" Jack said, trying to keep his voice optimistic. "Heather… Sully, you go with Aunt Tonya and get a snack."

"But… but what about Mommy?" Heather asked, in protest.

"Mommy will be fine." Jack nudged his children towards Tonya, and gave them his best, trust-me-even-though-I'm-lying smile.

"Come on kids! Let's go get something to eat- something good and sweet," Tonya said, while leading them away.

As Frankie approached, he noticed blood smeared over the front of Jack's shirt and staining his hands. "What the hell happened?"

"She… she…" Jack sat forward and began to run both hands through his hair. His breath became frantic and ragged, as his body closed in and looked as though he were about to crumble apart.

"Jack!" Frankie said, forcefully, "Is she going to be okay?"

Jack's hands fell to his knees and he looked up. "Uh… yeah… the doctor said she should be fine, in time. She lost a lot of blood…" He then stopped mid-sentence and large, desperate tears began to stream down his cheeks. He covered his eyes and began to sob into his hands. "She did this to herself, Frankie. She did this to herself."

Frankie sat down beside Jack and put a hand on his shoulder.

Jack's body shook as he did his best to choke back his tears. "What did I do? What did I do to drive her to this? How have I failed her so badly that she thought that this was her only option?"

And it was with that statement that Frankie took it upon himself to do whatever he could to maintain the equilibrium within the Napier family.

The lamp in the picture window of the Napier home suddenly snapped on, and that was Frankie's cue to bring Jack in. A fleeting smile crossed Jack's face as he imagined how Jeannie must have spent her day. Did she buy or bake a cake? _Oh, please God let it be a store bought cake_! Jeannie was a good cook, but fell terribly short when it came to baking. For years, Jack and his children had suffered through bread, cookies, and cakes that were as heavy as bricks, and could quite possibly be used as deadly weapons. Possibly, with all of the work involved with this party, she'd opted just to buy one? He could only hope. Then he wondered if the children had behaved themselves while Jeannie made preparations. Again, he could only hope. He could just imagine the sharp line that formed between her eyebrows when she was stressed, as the children ran through her dead clean house, that was party ready, with muddy shoes. She must have spent hours pacing around, wringing her hands and biting her tongue, as she tried to wage war against the dirt cloud that followed their children

Jack and Frankie simultaneously opened their car doors, and traded apprehensive glances over the roof as they closed them. Although the party itself was not a surprise, the fact that Jeannie had taken the time to plan it, was. And, it was quite bluntly, a little unsettling to those who knew her well. Birthdays were not Jeannie's strong point. She always made sure to do something special for the kids, but with Jack, it was hit or miss. Usually, if she managed to tell him "Happy Birthday," it was an accomplishment. So putting together an actual surprise party could not be described as just a little progress for her… it was the equivalent of sitting on the couch, eating potato chips one day, and placing first in a triathlon the next.

Suddenly a crippling, yet euphoric thought entered Jack's mind. Could they actually be classified as a normal, happy couple now? Is that where they finally were? No longer suffering in the hell of suburgatory, but thriving in it? Enjoying it? Were they just like the rest of the mundane, meaningless assholes, who thought that their white picket fences and perfectly manicured lawns were enough?

Yes…

And what was most horrifying about Jack's realization was that mediocrity was not only enough for him, but he was okay with it being enough.

He didn't need more…

He didn't want more…

In fact, he was happy with his mediocrity.

_Happy!_

Jack Napier actually happy… who would have thought?

He bit his lip, with nervous anticipation, as he placed his hand on the doorknob and slowly began to turn it. He looked in his empty living room as he walked through the door, then down the hallway to the kitchen. The heartwarming sounds of his children's excited giggles filled up the air around him, as he quickly placed his hat atop a hat-rack next to the door, and threw his suit jacket over the banister.

"Jeannie?" he questioned, feigning confusion, as he began to walk down the hall.

"We're in the dinin' room!" she called back.

He gave Frankie a quick, amused grin as he walked through the kitchen and turned to the dining room, where a homemade cake sat in the middle of their well-worn table. _Shit! _Surrounding their family table were the neighbors of Vicksburg Street, and not only the ones that he fixed up cars with, but everyone that called that short street home, people he guessed he could now begrudgingly call his friends. And in the middle of them all, was his family. The sight of his two oldest children hopping up and down as they yelled, "Surprise!" and his beautiful bride circling the table to get to his side with bouncing curly, blonde locks and a huge smile stretched across her pink lips, made a jagged ball of emotion catch in his throat.

Thank, God… they were at peace.

"Are you surprised?" She asked with the enthusiasm of a little child, while rocking up to her tip-toes to give him a chaste kiss. Then before he could answer, the words started to fly out of her mouth with as much vigor as a balloon deflating. "I've done my best to keep this all a secret. I'm sorry, I've had to lie to you about a few things. Todd is grillin' food in the backyard, and I know you don't like my cakes, so Jane baked this one. I hope its all okay, and that you are happy with it. But…but are you surprised? Are you?"

His heart melted as he looked into her hopeful blue eyes, and he placed a soft, quieting finger over her lips. "Yes. I am so surprised. How did you do all of this without me knowing?"

Jack swallowed down the last bite of an over-cooked hamburger, and chased it with the last few dregs of beer from his now empty bottle. He sat farther back in one of the white Adirondack chairs that littered his back patio, and briefly closed his eyes as the warm spring breeze pushed the scent of blossoming flowers through the air. In that solitary, perfect moment, all seemed right with the world. He owned a home that was the envy of his neighborhood, and it was filled with his three perfect children that were busy catching fireflies and jumping from their expensive, wooden swing set with the other neighborhood kids. He had a beautiful wife that other men would look upon with want and lust. She could have had anybody she wanted, but she chose him. Her willowy, flawless body, her sultry blue eyes, and plump lips… they all belonged to him. He was surrounded by friends that he could count on: Andrew Ryan, Todd Willis, Vince Carpenetti-well, Vince didn't count- and his best friend, Frank Boles. Yes, the job at the Ace Chemical Company was looming in the future, he and Jeannie were always teetering on the edge of disaster, and they had another baby on the way, but at that moment it didn't matter. His life was completely… satisfying.

His eyes opened as he felt his toddling daughter crawl into his lap, and his wife sit on the arm of his chair, while stretching her arm across his shoulders, allowing her weight to push comfortably against him.

"Congratulations, on the new baby, Jeannie," Todd's happy voice broke the silence. "I had no idea! Jane told me today."

Jack watched Jeannie's lips pull into a tight grin. Jane Willis certainly had a knack for breaking the latest news. "Thank you, we are very excited." Jeannie's voice was gracious, but edging with irritation.

"Four kids!" Todd said in a disbelieving tone. "I don't know how you keep up. You two have figured out what causes kids, right?"

Jack smiled and put his hand on Jeannie's knee. "I have, but I'm not sure about her. Don't let her in on it, though. I don't want to give her a reason to say no."

Jeannie gave Jack's shoulder a warning squeeze, and rolled her eyes. "Sayin' no might be somethin' I start doin' a little more often."

"But, you two are done after this one, right? No more kids?" Vince spoke up with a little too much agitation in his voice.

Jack had spent hours pondering Vince Carpenetti and his relationship with Jeannie. At one time, Jack was convinced that they were having an affair, but after questioning her for hours on the issue, and hearing her firm denials, he dismissed the thought. The two shamelessly flirted with the other, but Jack just assumed that it was a byproduct of their unhappy marriage. It may have grated his nerves, but as long as it didn't cross the line, he didn't feel like it was something that he needed to worry too much about. But, as Jeannie's affections slowly shifted back to her husband, Vince was becoming increasingly jealous. He would make inappropriate comments to Jeannie, and ask questions that were just a little too prying. The entire situation felt very reminiscent of teenagers in a love-triangle.

Jack's lips pulled into an amused sneer, and he gave Vince a very primal, territorial glare. "I don't know, I guess we will have to see if she really does start saying no. There's a first time for everything, I guess." He then allowed his hand to drift up Jeannie's thigh, and gave it a suggestive squeeze.

_This is mine._

Jeannie's face reddened as she pushed Jack's hand back down her leg. She felt like she was in the middle of a mine's-bigger-than- yours fight. And, it was not something that she wished to engage in, in front of the entire neighborhood. What was wrong with her husband, anyway? This was not like him. "Yes, we're done after this one." She then gave Jack a sideways what-the- hell- is- the-matter-with-you glance, and gestured to their youngest daughter, who sat on his lap with her head against his chest, and her thumb in her mouth.

Andrew Ryan cleared his throat and proceeded to defuse the situation in the most diplomatic way he could think of- simply changing the subject. "Have you all heard about that human-bat… thing that has been spotted around the city? Supposedly it is stopping more crime than the entire police force."

Todd Willis let out his usual snort-y, oblivious laugh. "He is calling himself Batman. Sure glad I'm not a crook. That would scare the shit out of me."

Jack and Frankie let out coinciding grunts, "yeah," before giving each other quick, uncomfortable glances.

"It's a damn good thing they are reopening that asylum out on Arkham Island… this city is going crazy," Jack said, trying to sound as befuddled by the criminal underbelly of Gotham as the next guy. In truth, there were many times, while dumping dead bodies over the sides of the Gotham Docks into the murky waves of the bay below, that Jack would look over the water to the far off island, and wonder when his life would force him into a padded cell.

"Jane thinks its Bruce Wayne," Todd said, almost embarrassed with his wife's idea.

Jeannie let out a loud, sardonic laugh. "No! Believe me, I know Bruce Wayne, and if it involves any more effort than writing a check, it won't happen. Batman is not Bruce Wayne."

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The mere mention of Bruce Wayne caused a wave of jealously to pulse through him. The thoughts of that man touching his wife made his skin crawl, and somehow made him feel impotent and unworthy. No matter how much he had given Jeannie over their life together, it would never measure up to what Bruce could have given her.

Then, just as if Andrew was reading headlines from a newspaper, he moved onto the next most uncomfortable subject he could come up with. "Y'know, they are closing in on the Red Hood. I bet with Batman in the city now, he will be going down soon."

Jack's blood pumped through his arteries so vigorously that he felt as though his head was about to explode. And, as his fingers pushed into Jeannie's skin, he was sure he probably looked like it too. "There is no Red Hood. It's not just one guy. So, they could arrest one Red Hood, but it wouldn't take them all off of the street."

"How do you know so much about it?" Vince's voice once again prodded at Jack.

Jack looked up, and blinked a few times. _How did he know so much? _"Ah…ah…that's just what I've heard."

Luckily for Jack, just as Vince was about to open his mouth to question further, Jeannie noticed that Maggie had fallen asleep. "We should get the kids to bed, y'know? Heather! Sullivan! Bed, now!" she called, out to her children that were pushing each other, as they placed blame over a crushed firefly.

"I'll help you," Jack said hurriedly, as he stood to his feet.

"You don't have to. It's your birthday party."

"I know I don't have to… I want to." He gave her a matter-of-fact nod, then looked back to the men who sat around him. "Excuse me for a moment, fellas. Let me get the kids to bed, then we'll tinker around on the car for a bit, and knock back a few more cold ones."

And with that, the Napiers made a retreat into their home.

Jeannie reached for Jack's arm, and gave it a slight tug, as they walked through the kitchen door. "What was all that about out there?"

"What?"

"You know what… you and Vince. I felt like you two were about to lock antlers, or somethin'."

"He wants you Jeannie… that's obvious."

All of the air in her body suddenly rushed out in one long breath, as she looked at her husband's deadpan face. She did her best to throw him off the track, but his suspicions about Vince were not completely unwarranted. Although, she had never allowed herself to give in to her desires, there was a time, not so long ago, when her relationship with Vince was a little more than neighborly. It happened during one of the lower points in her marriage. She hadn't seen or heard from Jack in three days, and during an afternoon rainstorm, she opened her door to find Vince standing on her front stoop. He'd wandered across the cul-de-sac in search of a tool that he needed to borrow from Jack, but ended up spending the entire afternoon comforting Jeannie. She told him everything… every nitty-gritty detail of their life. Every heartbreak; every un-kept promise. There were no secrets of her marriage-bed that were sacred in that moment. Sometime during the conversation, someone suggested that they should leave together. She could take her children, and he would leave his behind with his wife. They would move somewhere far away. Somewhere that was hot year round, and somewhere they could be happy… together. Then he leaned in closely and placed a soft kiss upon her lips- a kiss that she did not completely return. Then his lips traveled across her jaw line, down her neck… then as his hands brushed across her breasts, she stopped him before he could go any further. She didn't want to… she wanted him to keep going… at the moment she needed him to. No… that was wrong… she didn't need him. She needed Jack. She wanted Jack. Every fiber in her being was screaming for him. In that moment, she would settle for anyone that could heal the wound that her absent husband had left. But, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't betray him.

"No, Jack, he doesn't… that's just your overactive imagination."

"I don't know, honey. He bothers me. He acts like you owe him an explanation for acting like my wife. Like I am the third-wheel… or an outsider."

"That's stupid... and you know it." She again rocked to her tip-toes and gave him a reassuring kiss. She then stuck her head back out the door, "NAPIER CHILDREN! IN THE HOUSE, NOW! Don't make me tell you again!"

"Yeah, I guess it is," he said, shifting Maggie in his grip, so that he held her with one arm. He then set his sights on a box that sat in the middle of the kitchen table. "What's that?"

"Oh, it's a baby- bottle heater. It was on sale, so I decided to go ahead and pick it up. I guess I should start stockpilin' diapers too."

"You nursed the other three… you're going to bottle-feed this one?" His voice had a twinge of disgust mixed through it… or at least that is how she interpreted it.

For just the slightest instant, Jeannie felt like picking something up and throwing it at his head. No, she had no plans of nursing this baby. There were several years between her other children, so her body had time to recover. Maggie was just over a year old, and finally sleeping through the night. She had no desire to be the sole parent responsible for feeding the baby, this time around. "Well, we can afford formula this time, and I thought you might like to help feed this one- since you didn't help with the others. This time you can get out of bed and give the baby a bottle, rather than just punchin' me in the side and tellin' me that the baby is awake, then rollin' over to go back to sleep."

Heather and Sullivan crashed through the door, just as Jack gritted his teeth together. Oh, how he wanted to sling something back at her… something that would be a real soul crusher. _You didn't go without sleep with Maggie. You were too busy, wallowing in your sadness, so Heather would bring her to you long enough for you to feed her, then you would roll back over and go to sleep. _But, considering that the entire neighborhood was within earshot, he decided to let it go. "Whatever you want, sweetie."

It was a phrase that was a cure-all in their marriage. Unfortunately, one that Jack, like all husbands, did not learn soon enough.

She felt her hackles begin to lower, and she gave him a satisfied smile, then called after Heather and Sullivan, "You two wash up, use the bathroom, and brush your teeth, and say your prayers… I want all lights out in ten minutes! I will be checkin'!"

"At least let me get you a better one than this," Jack said, picking up the box and expecting it a little more closely.

"Nothing is wrong with that one."

"I read a story in the newspaper a couple of weeks ago. There was a woman in the Bowery… she lived a few blocks over from our building…anyway, she was testing one of these…a cheap one… and there was an electric shock, or something… it killed her."

"That's very sad, but I'm sure it's fine. If there was a problem, they would be recalled. The wirin' in her apartment was probably bad. You know how shitty everything in that neighborhood is." She was a little affronted by his lack of confidence in her ability to pick out a simple appliance.

"No…no… I just don't want to take the chance. The woman's poor husband was in the Bowery Tavern when it happened- he is a comedian… a bad one... I've seen his act a few times when I've been there. Anyway, he was setting up a job, when the cops came in to tell him." He met her gaze and his eyes seemed confused, as if he were remembering something very troubling that he couldn't quite trust. "I couldn't stand it if something happened to you. That poor guy lost his wife and baby, all in the same moment. Oh, God, if something like that happened to you, they would have to give me a permanent room at that asylum out on Arkham Island. Promise me, you will take it back. Let me buy you a nice one. Promise me! Don't even get it out of the box."

She cocked her head to the side and crossed her arms over her stomach. "Okay, honey. I promise. It's no problem."

"Good," he said through a relieved breath.

"Jack," she said, "I know things are goin' really well right now, and I know you are just waitin' on the other shoe to drop. But, it's not goin' to. Everything is fine. Nothin' is goin' to happen to me. I'm fine." It was a lie, but obviously something that they both needed to hear.

The muscles in her face then contracted so minimally and so quickly, that the fastest camera on earth couldn't have caught it, but to Jack it stood out like a beacon. Something was wrong with her. Her speech about being fine was more for her benefit than his. She was trying to convince herself. He gazed at her for a beat longer, then shook his head to clear his mind. "We should probably check on the kids."

She pleasantly smiled. "You put her to bed, while I wrangle the others… I'm sure Sully has squeezed toothpaste in Heather's hair, or some other catastrophe has occurred in the five minutes that they have been on their own."

She then trotted down the hallway, and up the stairs, leaving Jack behind to feel the crushing weight of fear bear down on his shoulders.

Something was wrong.

_Of course, it was... why the hell not?_

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><p>Jack chuckled, as he placed Maggie down in her bed, and his ears were met with the sound of Jeannie cursing under her breath in the adjacent bathroom. An entire bottle of baby-oil had been poured out on the sink and was dripping to the floor in a big puddle. "Do you need help with that?" Jack asked in a hushed voice.<p>

"No. If she's asleep, you can go back downstairs."

"I'll wait on you."

He sat down in a rocking chair, on the opposite side of the room from Maggie's bed. He supposed that Maggie would be moving to the bigger room down the hall, and the new baby would be getting this smaller room. The walls were pink, so if this baby was a boy, a fresh coat of paint would be required. Then his mind started to wander to what they would name this coming child. It was something that Jeannie refused to even mention, she was almost superstitious about it… Patrick was the only child they named before birth. But, it couldn't hurt to think about it… could it? Maybe, they could name him after Jack... John Napier Jr.

Junior, sounded perfect.

A rush of sadness came over Jack as he looked at his sleeping daughter. Where would Patrick have fit into all of this? He would have been the big brother… would he be protective of his little siblings? Would he try to lead the way? Jack felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest, and he quickly changed his train of thought…

_Yes, this room will have to be painted…_

Jeannie walked into the room, still flustered from the mess she had just wiped up, and took a long, appraising look at her husband. "Jack, you look exhausted."

"I'm just thinking about, Patrick. Hell, who am I kidding… I think about him all the time."

Her body stiffened. "He is always on my mind, too." She hesitated for a moment, then crossed the room and sat down upon hid lap. She then lovingly wrapped her arms around his neck, and placed her forehead against his cheek.

"I want to go see him tomorrow. It's been such a long time."

She looked up, and gave him an approving nod. "That's fine. We will go in the morning while Heather and Sully, are in school, and I can ask Jane to watch Maggie."

He ran his hand up and down her back, letting his fingers linger over the soft, silky material of her dress. "Thank you for doing this for me."

She kissed his cheek. "You're welcome. I am happy to do it. I have never been very good about your birthday. You deserve it."

"I'm so old."

She smiled. "Yeah, you are."

"When this baby is eighteen, I will be fifty-three. Fifty-three!" he repeated to himself in disbelief.

"We will probably have grandkids by then…maybe more than one," Jeannie said, burying herself deeper into Jack's embrace.

"No…" he said, standing and taking her with him. "We are too young to be talking about that! Let's go be young." He kept her in his arms as he walked from Maggie's room and kicked open their bedroom door.

"JACK! WE HAVE GUESTS!" she shrieked, as he slammed the door behind them and threw her on the bed.

They deserved to be young and happy... even if it was just for thirty minutes.

* * *

><p>Jack proudly walked into his garage and grabbed a post-coital beer from a small refrigerator in the corner. "I see you gentlemen have started without me."<p>

Frankie shrugged. "We waited, but from the freshly-fucked smiled on your face, I can see that you were a little busy."

"What can I say... I had a rather impressive birthday present to unwrap," he boasted while giving Vince a carnal, victorious smile. _I told you she is mine._

Frankie laughed. "Did she give you, your birthday spanking."

"No, that's for later. But, I'll be the one doing the spanking." Jack couldn't take his eyes off of Vince. He felt rather disgusted with himself, he wasn't a man who spoke too candidly about his sex life... especially since that sex life exclusively consisted of a wife. But, the way that Vince's eyes flashed with jealously, made something primal bubble up inside of Jack. It was as if his inner caveman was dusting off his club, and proudly displaying his rug-burned knuckles. HE WAS A MAN! THE MAN OF THIS HOUSE!

"What are we going to do, once we have this car fixed up?" Todd asked, oblivious to the conversation and wobbling a little on his feet.

Jack took a swig from his bottle. "One of you can buy the next fixer-upper. This one almost ended my marriage. Jeannie and I are ahhh... getting along... and I'm not going to do anything that may change that."

"You shouldn't talk about her like that. Like she's a piece of meat," Vince said, reproachfully.

Jack's gaze snapped to Vince, and he took on a purposeful back-off stance. His jaw clenched tightly shut as he thought about what he wanted to do, or say. Really, he wanted to send a well-placed punch into Vince's stupid, horse-face. Jeannie was his wife... not Vince's, and Vince had no business commenting on anything that Jack said about his marriage. He needed to know his place. "Y'know Vince." Jack stopped, as he glanced at the other men around him, all of them poised and ready to break up a fight. There was a mouth full that he wanted to unload onto Vince, but instead he bit his tongue. He would be the one climbing into bed next Jeannie that night, not Vince. There was no point in beating a dead horse. "I just bought some new tools. They are in the top of that red toolbox over there. Why don't you go get them for us to use tonight?"

Vince narrowed his eyes. He wanted so badly for Jack to throw a punch in his direction. Then he would have the excuse to unleash his own wrath; let go of all the pent up frustration that he'd held since he tasted Jeannie's lips, and felt her soft skin. He wanted it again, and Jack was all that was standing in his way. It wasn't fair that what he wanted was just within reach, but slapped away simply because Jack decided to take notice of what he had been overlooking for years. Vince allowed his lips to lift into a tight smile, before turning on his heels. "Sure."

Jack's shoulders slumped as he let out a tightly held breath, then he turned to the other men, who were also visibly relieved. All of them were wobbling on the fine line between being sober and drunk, and none of them felt like breaking up a scuffle between two overly proud men, who were chasing after the same woman. "If none of you will man up, and buy a car for us to work on, then for the next project, I want to build a fence across my back property line. I don't want the kids running back into the woods by themselves, and that will slow them down."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Todd said, with a tipsy chuckle.

Jack's brow suddenly knit together as he realized that Vince had been riffling through his toolbox for a few minutes too long. "How's it coming back there, Vince?"

"Oh, fine." He sounded cheerful as he slammed the top of the toolbox shut, and shuffled to the front of the car with a handful of tools. "Ah, look guys, I hate to leave good company, but I think I am going to gather the family, and call it an evening."

"Thanks for coming," Jack said, with the same tone as a snarky teenager, as he offered Vince an outstretched hand.

"Oh, believe me Jack, the pleasure is all mine. You're one lucky son-of-a-bitch," Vince said, taking Jack's hand and giving it a hard shake. He then gave a smile that shook Jack to his core. Although, Jack couldn't put his finger on it, something about Vince's temperament changed in the short journey from the back of the garage to the front. Vince then nodded to the other men, and walked out the side door to find his family.

As he turned the corner, he began to dig in his pocket, and pulled out a tightly folded piece of paper. It had been sticking out of the back panel of Jack's toolbox, and would have completely gone unnoticed, had one corner of it not been pulled down enough to reveal the word _ACE._

Vince unfolded it quickly, and was met with the sight of a large map of the Ace Chemical Company- his employer. It didn't seem unusual at first; just a map of the compound that was given to every employee. But, upon further inspection he noticed a heavily drawn, red line traveling down the north side of the company, closest to the river. Then it cut through building 706. Why 706? There was nothing in that building other than chemical waste; nasty stuff that would eat your skin off if it even came close to it. His eyes continued to follow the line through 706, and into… the business office. Across the line, at every entrance way, codes were written…codes that would open any door, and disable any alarm. Every guard shack was circled with times that guards were present. Then across the top, the date June 15th, was written in bold letters. That was the day that a payment was delivered- not just any payment though, but the one holding the summer bonuses.

What the hell was this map for?

Why were all of these dates, and codes, and times scribbled across it?

Then it hit Vince all at once…

Jack Napier was going to rob the Ace Chemical Company…

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>


	18. Chapter 17

**Hello everyone! I hope you all are having a great day! Thank you to EVERYONE for reading, and a big thanks to those of you who have reviewed! In the last chapter, I revealed that Frankie's last name is Boles. To those of you who are wondering, yes, that is a nod to the character from Arkham Asylum. I'm not implying that they are the same characters, but just as the story is drawing to a close for us, so is this memory for The Joker. So some things from his current life might be leaking into his memories. Kind of like waking from a dream, and not being certain of what is real, or not! We are drawing closer, and closer to the big finale! I hope you all are ready! And thanks again!**

**Please be warned that this is a long chapter.**

* * *

><p><strong>"The guy goes into the hospital, okay? His wife's just had a baby and he can't wait to see them both. So he meets the doctor and he says, 'Oh, Doc, I've been so worried. How are they?' And the doctor smiles and says, 'They're fine. Just fine. Your wife's delivered a healthy baby boy and they're both in tip-top form. You're one lucky guy.' So the guy rushes into the maternity ward with his flowers. But it's empty. His wife's bed is empty. 'Doc?' He says and turns around and the doctor and all the nurses wave their arms and scream in his face. 'April fools! Your wife's dead and the baby's a spastic!'"<strong>

**- The Joker, Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth**

**Chapter 17-**

If there was one thing that could be said for Jack Napier, it was that he loved his wife.

He loved everything about her.

He loved the way her golden ringlets would splay out around her head like a halo whenever she slept. He loved that when she laughed too hard, she would make a funny snort-y sound, then a subsequent self-conscious blush would cover her pale cheeks. He loved the way she would claim to be a vegetarian, yet would sneak bites of meat whenever she got the chance. He loved the softness of her lips, and the way they felt against his own.

He loved her so much, that at times, it physically hurt.

But, his favorite thing about her was her hands.

Her beautiful, delicate hands. When she was a dancer they were so graceful; finishing out every move flawlessly. He learned the tenderness of their touch, when she became his lover. Oh, how impeccable and right they felt against his skin. He loved how perfectly his far larger hand completely encompassed hers. He became even fonder of her hands, when he slipped a wedding band onto her finger. Then he fell completely in love, when he took in the sight of them holding newborn babies that belonged to him.

But, now, as he watched her beautiful hands travel over the words, _**PATRICK NAPIER, BELOVED SON, **_etched into cold, gray granite, the sight of them sickened and disgusted him.

"Oh, my poor, poor sweet boy," Jeannie said through muffled tears, as she knelt in front of the headstone. "How much I've grieved for you."

With trepidation, Jack stepped forward and placed a soft, sympathetic hand between her shoulder blades. Going to this cemetery, that housed the remains of both Jeannie's parents, and their son's, was not something that Jack or Jeannie did often, and even more rarely, together. The frayed nerves and raw emotions that accompanied every cemetery trip, would lead to a hellacious argument that would last for days. The couple had decided early on, that it would be best to just go at it alone. Do their mourning in private. So, any kind of support from their spouse, however so small, was completely foreign. And, bluntly, a little alarming.

A relieved sigh pushed past Jeannie's lips as she leaned into Jack's touch. "He would have been eleven this year, Jack."

"I know."

"We would've had an eleven year old… how is that possible? That stupid car would be goin' to him in just a few years, instead of havin' to wait ten more for Sully."

"I know."

"He would've been bringin' home some girl that I would've hated soon…"

"I know." Jack was aware that he sounded like a broken record, but the phrase, 'I know", was the only thing that he could manage to get out, and still hide the splutter of emotion that was threatening to spill out at the mention of every moment of their son's life that would never happen.

Every time Jeannie visited her son, an expression of complete, disbelieving horror would cover her pretty face- and this trip was no exception. Seeing his wife look so incredulous and confused made Jack's ears ring with his own panic. The intrusive memories of war and tragedies of childhood were a thing of Jack's past. He had overcome them long ago, but the loss of his son haunted him, and always would. No amount of time or self-help could fix that gaping hole in his heart. He would dream, almost nightly, that instead of being deceased, Patrick was simply missing in the vast shuffle of the city. The harder Jack searched, down alleys and behind buildings, the more mislaid his son would become. As the dream would lead his search for his lost boy into The Bowery, he would hear the sounds of horns from docking boats, and wake with a start that caused him to sit straight up in the bed. At first, in the haze of the abyss between sleep and wakefulness, he would feel the terror that accompanied the thought of a misplaced child. His gaze would frantically dart around the room, until it stilled on his sleeping wife, lying silently with one leg sticking out from beneath the covers. He would then feel a cold sweat begin to run down his bare chest, and the cruel reality would seize him that his oldest son was not missing at all, but instead lying amongst a garden of corpses, six feet under within the cold earth, only protected by a tiny box. He would grit his teeth with all of the strength in his jaw as he remembered that Patrick's first breath was also his last. Never would he feel the sun upon his skin, or fall down and scrape a knee. Never would he bully his younger siblings. Never would he play sports, and kiss a pretty girl. Never would he fall in love with an even prettier woman, and bring her home to meet the family. Never would he hold children of his own, or grow old and gray.

He had an unfinished life.

If only Jack's dream weren't a dream. Yes, his son may have been lost, but at least he would've been out there… somewhere…

And maybe he could have been found.

Jack's eyes narrowed then flitted away as he watched Jeannie's shoulders convulse in time with her sobs. He had to find something else to look at. First, he inwardly commented on the nice days. The sky was a perfect blue, dotted by white, puffy clouds and there was a light breeze that kept the air from becoming too hot. Then his mind wandered to the surrounding headstones. Some were very old, and their lettering was barely legible. Others were shiny and new, and placed upon graves that were covered with only dirt, and without even a hint of grass. Then Jack's attention darted to the grass itself. They had picked this cemetery because it was supposed to be cared for by an expert groundskeeper. But, the grass was so unevenly cut, and hurried through. Whoever was attending to the grounds didn't even bother to blow the chops of turf from the headstones. It made Jack see red. Then his eyes again wandered upon the name **PATRICK NAPIER**, and again his emotions started to shred.

Just as his lips parted, letting out a soft mixture of a gasp and a sob, Jeannie rose to her feet and turned to him, wiping the moisture from her pink cheeks. "Why don't you have a turn with him while I got visit Momma and Daddy?"

He shifted his view down to his feet and gave her a weak, barely discernible nod. "Sure."

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, and looked back down to her son's headstone. "Poor, poor Patrick. Mommy loves you so much," she said through a crackling sniffle, then turned on her heels and began to walk away.

Jack grabbed her arm, gently, before she got out of reach. "You okay?"

"As okay, as I'll be."

With a heavy-hearted sigh, he released her arm. "I'll see you when you're done then."

He watched her shoulders curl forward with grief as she trudged towards the two headstones that sat perched upon a small knoll, several yards away, then he looked back to the ground beneath him. He hated this place. Why, oh, why did he suggest that they come? He enjoyed fantasies of what it might have been like had Patrick not been snatched away by the merciless hands of death. Every time he lay on his back beneath his car, he would imagine Patrick laying alongside him. At times he even had to stop himself from calling out,_ "Could you hand me that wrench, kiddo?"_ Coming to this graveyard, just cemented the fact, that it would never happen. That what he longed for, and missed so desperately in his life, was so close… right beneath his feet. Yet, so far away.

So unattainable.

Before Jack could stop himself, he felt his knees beginning to bend, and his body taking on the pose that it did every time his feet hit this hallowed ground. He knelt in front of the headstone, with his arms crossed over its smooth top, laying his full weight against it for support. This position was the only one that he could catch his breath in. The only one that kept him from punching the hell out of nearby tree or kicking over the headstone of the old asshole who had lived to be one-hundred and five, who was buried two plots away. Couldn't have whatever deity that reigned supreme split the years between that man, who lived to be a dinosaur, and Patrick a little more evenly?

Why was the universe so mean and _unfair?_

His life had been clipping along just fine when Patrick was taken. He was happy. He and Jeannie were newlyweds, settling into married life, and expecting their first child. They were in love, and everything was new and fresh. Then, as if he had been sailing under the radar, the universe pointed its rigid finger at him and said, _"There you are Jack … I've been looking for you." _Then the dam broke loose.

He felt a few heavy tears begin to roll down his face, then he took in a long, ragged breath. "I'm so, so sorry, son. I never meant for this to happen. It was all my fault."

* * *

><p>It had been a helluva night. One for the record books, in fact. Within a few short hours, Jack had killed his father-in-law, been overtaken both mentally and physically by some inner demon, come close to killing his mother-in-law, and almost certainly lost his wife and son.<p>

He would not soon forget this night…

But, even with that knowledge, he was going to try.

After leaving Jeannie at her parent's home he drove back to The Bowery, parked his car in front of their building, then wandered the streets of their dilapidated neighborhood. He shuffled down streets and alleys that he didn't know existed. Somehow, he found his way to the Docks, then after watching a crew of longshoremen unload a ships worth of cargo, he strolled back to his favorite haunt, The Bowery Tavern.

His plan of attack was to drown the sleeping creature inside of him. He didn't know what it was, or where it came from, but maybe he could smother it out with a heap of liquor He sat down on a stool at the farthest end of the bar and motioned for the barkeep. "Shot of whiskey… set me up and keep 'em coming."

The first two shots burned all the way down his esophagus, until they plopped into the pit of his empty stomach. The third one was warm, but didn't sting like its predecessors. Rounds four through seven, didn't feel anymore venomous than water. And, after rounds eight through twelve, Jack wasn't feeling much of anything. He sat, like any good drunk, with his head hanging listlessly from his shoulders and his hands pressed firmly into the sticky bar top. He looked pathetic with drooping eyes, a tie that hung limply around his neck, and a hat sitting askew atop his head. For a few short moments he felt as though he would fall from his seat if he shifted his weight at all.

Then he noticed a woman sitting a few stools over. From his blurry, bloodshot, drunken eyes, she was pretty. She had blonde, curly hair, slender features, and a gracefully thin body… like his ballerina. Some men liked to play sports… others liked to hunt for wild game, but Jack preferred the sport of hunting women… or at least he did before he said his _till-death-do-us-parts. _More than one woman had fallen prey to his charms within the rickety walls of this bar. He knew exactly the right words to say; the right smile to use.

Hell… he was going to lose his wife anyway. She might have acted concerned for him, but in the harsh light of the day, she wouldn't forgive him… why not numb the pain a little more thoroughly with something a bottle of whiskey couldn't offer?

He looked down at his left ring-finger, and spun his wedding band a few times with his thumb. Could he really do this? Before he could talk himself out of it, he quickly slid the ring from his finger and placed it securely in his suit pocket. The glaring, white indentation in his skin was even more noticeable than the ring itself… and it seemed to be taunting him. _What kind of an asshole cheats on his pregnant wife?_

He shook off the scolding that his conscience was giving him, and straightened his tie, then fixed his hat. He gave another quick glance at the woman, who would be replacing his wife for the night, then slowly raised himself from his seat. He held on tightly to the bar, as he felt the axis of the world shift beneath his feet. Then after regaining his equilibrium, he straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and sauntered to her side.

As he approached, she gave him a fast, nonchalant glance that made his best,_ I'm-really-a-gentleman-so-please-fuck-me_, smile stretch across his lips.

"Ya come here often?" he asked, a little too commandingly, as he sat down beside her.

She arched one eyebrow, and let out a faint laugh, as she barely turned her gaze to his. "No… new to town."

"That's what I thought. I frequent this place-or at least I use to- and I've never seen you before. The name's Jack."

"Mae."

"Pretty name, to match a pretty girl… y'know you look like someone I know."

"Your wife?"

Jack's smile fell, but bounced back before he looked too thrown by her question. "Wife?"

"I saw you take your ring off."

"Uh… it's… it's complicated…"

"I don't really care if your married or not," she said, with a shrug.

"Well I am… and you do resemble her…"

"And how would said wife feel if she knew that you are drunk and talking to another woman in a bar?"

"She wouldn't be too happy with me… I probably wouldn't have a wife anymore."

She turned a little more towards him. "That's honest. Jack was it?"

"Yes."

"Buy me a drink?"

"Really?"

"You're a good looking guy… I'm a good looking girl… why not?"

"Yes… why not?"

After another three… or maybe four drinks, Jack found himself deep in conversation with the girl whose name he had forgotten a drink ago. Mae was it? Maybe Faye? He sat too closely to her, and would occasionally find his errant fingers traveling over her back, and mingling amongst her curls. "_What are you doing?" _he asked himself every time he allowed her to place her hand upon his chest.

"Where are you from?" he asked sweetly.

"New Orleans…"

"Shit," he swore with a tiny hiss playing at the end of his word.

"What?"

"My wife is from New Orleans. How did you end up here? Please, don't tell me you're a dancer…"

"No," she laughed, "actress."

"Is your wife a dancer?"

He nodded as he took a sip from his glass. "Ballet. She broke her leg a few months ago, and it ended her career. She was beautiful at it, though." He then felt the intense burn of wrath begin to rage within him. He wasn't exactly sure who, or what he was angry with, but Jeannie seemed to be the prefect target at the moment. "You and my wife are from the same city, but you two sound nothing alike. She is so goddamn fake. The woman has never used a "g" on the end of a word since I met her. Nobody speaks like that. It's so contrived and pretentious. She wants people to see her as this little, innocent southern-belle in a hoop-skirt and sunbonnet. 'Oh, poor, poor pitiful me. Nobody understands me. I am of a higher class than everyone else because I can speak French, and grew up with private ridin' lessons, and in a big mansion that my daddy's money bought. Now, somebody fan me before I get a case of the vapors,'" he spat out, mocking her dialect.

"If she disgusts you so badly, why are married to her."

"Because I love her. And, I hate myself for it. I follow her around like a puppy… I have no dignity or willpower when it comes to her."

"Yet, here you are talking to me."

He looked down at the droplets of water falling down his glass, and his jaw shifted. "I'm tired of talking. You want to get out of here? I live a block away."

She cocked her head to the side, and her messy curls covered half her face…just like Jeannie's did when she was contemplating a decision. "Where is your wife?"

"Jeannie is with her mother."

With that she stood, and grabbed his tie. "Let's go…"

Jack was able to contain himself as he watched her body move through the haze of smoke hanging in the air… that was until he reached the exit. As soon as their feet hit the sodden, dirty streets of Gotham, he grabbed her and pulled her into a nearby alley. He pushed her against a building's exterior and pressed his lips desperately against hers. His verve was only encouraged when she deepened the kiss, and knotted her fingers into his hair. His weight pinned her body so that she couldn't move and he allowed his hands to trail down her neck, over her breasts, down her sides, and stop at the hem of her skirt.

_What are you doing? You are going to throw everything away over some whore in a bar? You are a fool, Jack Napier… a damn fool._

"Here… do it here… now… please Jack… please," she moaned, over heavy breaths.

And, through her pleas, he heard it. The slight southern drawl that was distinctly that of his wife's. He backed away, bending forward, and covering his mouth as if he was about to be sick. "I can't do this. I've gone too far already. I can't… I'm sorry."

"What? Are you serious?"

"I love my wife…" Without giving her a second glance, he left her there all alone. His pace quickened as he made the short walk back to his building. Every eye on the street seemed to be looking deadly at him; knowing what a sorry excuse for a man he was. What if someone saw him with that woman? What if it got back to Jeannie? Oh, God what had he done? A poor decision could quite possibly ruin his life. Hurt his wife even more.

As he slammed through his building's door he anxiously fished his wedding ring from his pocket and clicked it into place on his finger. With every step up the stairwell he waited for the first gaunt, old coot to reach out and grab him; give him a knowing, disappointed glare. But, much to his surprise, it didn't happen. That was until, he passed Mrs. Burkiss' apartment.

"Napier!" she screeched, whipping open the door.

"I'm kinda in a hurry, Mrs. Burkiss."

"Well, your goddamned phone has been ringing off the hook."

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. "Since when?"

"For 'bout an hour now. Turn the goddamned thing off… it's keeping up the entire building," she huffed, as her hairy upper lip curled, and she retreated back into her apartment, followed by the sound of a slamming door.

Jack stood on the landing in front of her apartment for a moment, and tried to maneuver his way through all of the possibilities. Why would someone be calling at this hour? He had just seen Jeannie a few hours before, and she was fine when he left her. But, oh, no… what if something happened to Aunt Helen? Or Molly? His heart started to pound a little faster as he jogged up the stairs leading to his dwelling.

Blackness was his only greeter as he pushed his was through his door. Blackness… and the red, harsh blinking light from his answering machine. He didn't even bother to turn on the light as he bounded across the room to the pulsating glow

Twenty-seven…

That was the number flashing up at him…

His stomach rolled as his fingers met the button and the sound of Jeannie's quivering voice filled the space around him.

"Jack… where are you? When you get this, you need to go to Gotham General… I'm… I'm… just get there, okay?"

Then, the next message was from a panic stricken Frankie. "JACK! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? JEANNIE COULDN'T FIND YOU, SO SHE CALLED ME! GET YOUR ASS TO THE HOSPITAL NOW!"

He didn't wait to hear more. Whatever remnants of drunkenness might have still been sloshing around inside of him, were instantly gone. He was out the door, down the steps, and in his car before the sound of Frankie's shrieks were even out of his head.

What was happening? Was she in labor? It was too early… far too early. What if something horrible happened to her? He was busy getting drunk and putting his revolting hands on the body of another woman, while God-knows-what was happening to his wife.

The far too familiar doors of the Gotham General Emergency Room slid open in front of him, and he was met with a Frankie's hands grabbing his arms, and roughly pushing him backwards. "Stop Jack… stop!"

"What's happened? What's wrong?" Jack's voice was an octave too high and squeaked like a teenager's going through puberty.

Frankie's rounded eyes stared through Jack's, and his shoulders slumped forward. "I…I don't know all the details."

"What aren't you telling me? I know you are hiding something. Tell me, Frankie, or so help me, I will beat the shit out of you right here."

"When I got here, they had already taken her back. She was in labor, and it… it… wasn't stopping…" Frankie hesitated. "Jack, I think it would be better if you talked to a doctor."

"Just tell me, is she okay?"

"She's fine… she's sleeping in a postpartum room. But, Jack…the baby… the baby…"

Jack felt his knees begin to buckle at the grim undertone in Frankie's voice. The wall behind him was the only thing that kept him from landing in a pile on the floor. "What about the baby?"

"I really think you need to talk to a doctor."

"Just fucking tell me!"

"Her labor wasn't stopping, and she was bleeding pretty badly. They did an emergency c-section… and… and the baby was so small. He took a breath and…"

Jack held up his hand to stop Frankie from progressing. "Does she know?"

"She hasn't been awake yet."

Jack's gaze again met Frankie's, and whatever it was that lived inside of him stirred once more. He wanted to beat the hell of something…anything. He just wanted to hit something until it felt as much pain and despair as he was feeling. Just as he was about to lunge himself forward, and push Frankie's face to the back of his skull, a nurse rounded the corner.

"Are you Mr. Napier?"

It took a moment for Jack's hackles to come down, and for him to recognize his own name. "Uh…yes."

"Has any of the hospital staff spoken to you, yet?"

"No…" Jack gestured to Frankie. "He has updated me."

The spindly nurse gave a small nod, then bounced on the balls of her feet. "Would you like to see your wife?"

"Please…"

"Follow me, sir."

As Jack, walked into the dimly lit room, he felt like he was about to pass out. There she was, sleeping soundly, completely unaware of the shock that was awaiting her. She looked so amazing. How was he supposed to tell her? How was he going to break her heart? No one had actually said it to him yet… could he even get the words out of his mouth without hearing them for himself?

The nurse pointed to a chair next to the bed. "Please, make yourself comfortable. She should be waking up soon." She then again bounced on her feet and began to exit the room.

"Wait," Jack demanded. "Where is my son?"

The nurse swallowed hard then wove her fingers together. "His body has been moved."

"He is in the morgue?"

"Sir?"

"He is cold, and dead in the morgue. Just say it… just say he is dead… I need you to say it. I need to know what to tell her."

"This should be coming from a doctor, not me."

"No, I want to hear it from you. You look like a smart person. I want you to tell me."

The nurse let out a sharp exhale through her teeth. "Mr. Napier. Your son is dead. Your wife was in active labor when she came to us. The doctors did everything they could to halt it, but labor had progressed too far. The pregnancy was not mature enough to produce a viable baby. His lungs were severely underdeveloped. We tried everything… he was just too small and too weak."

Jack cleared his throat, then gave a pointed stare to the nurse. "Simple as that."

"Mr. Napier… I am very sorry for your loss. Would you like to have someone explain this to your wife when she wakes up?"

Jack meekly shook his head. "No… I'll do it."

"Is there anything else?"

"Uh… my son… is he…can I see him? Hold him, maybe?"

"He is very small, Mr. Napier. And, he has been gone for a while… you probably don't want to see him."

Jack nodded and then let out a staggered sigh. "Thank you."

"If you need anything, please let me know."

Jack collapsed into the chair next to Jeannie, as he heard the click of the closing door. His body was so numb, that he couldn't even tell if he was still alive. Maybe this was just a horrible nightmare. Maybe if he closed his eyes tightly, when he opened them, he would somehow be back in his apartment with a pregnant Jeannie, eagerly awaiting the birth of their son.

No luck…

Oh, his apartment, what a hell on earth it would become. It was filled, wall-to-wall, with baby things. A crib that he had proudly put together, a swing, a bouncer, stacks of diapers, drawers upon drawers of baby clothes. Everything was varying shades of blue or green, and the name Patrick was lovingly embroidered across anything with a cloth surface.

This was going to destroy her.

It was going to destroy them.

He slumped his shoulders and steepled his fingers in front of his face. Nothing in his existence could have prepared him for what he was feeling. The nurse was right, he really didn't want to see Patrick. As long as his son was still safely inside Jeannie's womb, there was a bit of a barrier. But, actually looking upon the face of his, now dead, son would make it real. The little boy, would really be gone. He would feel it all. Every parent is at times paralyzed by the soul crushing fear of losing a child, but he never expected it to actually happen.

"Jack? Jack, what's goin' on?" Jeannie's feeble voice met his ears. "Where am I?"

He watched her eyes flutter open, and then settle on him. His mouth suddenly dried out, and he became very aware that the taste of the woman in the bar's lipstick still lingered on his lips. "Jeannie, you're in the hospital, but you're okay."

"Why am I here?"

"What do you remember about tonight?"

"I remember you leavin' me with my mother…and…and nothin' more past that."

He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Honey, you went into labor tonight. You had to have a c-section, so you're probably pretty sore from that."

Her eyes widened with excitement. "He is here then? You've seen him? It's early though? He is okay, right? Perfect? Small, but perfect."

The pungent taste of blood filled Jack's mouth, making him realize that he had been biting the inside of his cheek. His brow creased and a pain so sharp, that he could've sworn he'd been stabbed, pierced through his chest. "No, sweetheart he's not. His lungs were not ready yet. They tried everything, but…uh… he didn't make it."

He expected her to sob, or gasp, or whimper… but there was nothing. Not a sound, not a tear. Her steely blue eyes just stared at him, unblinking, and her mouth was pulled into a tight line. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she looked away and began to run her fingers over the sheets on her bed.

"Jeannie, are you okay?"

Again, there was nothing from her. She stared up at the ceiling, as if she was counting the tiles. Goosebumps rose across her skin, and he instinctively began to rub his hand over her arm, trying to warm her up. "Stop… don't touch me right now… please."

His hand dropped down to the bed in defeat. He felt helpless. He had no idea what to do next. "What do you need, Jeannie?"

"I need to be alone."

"Are you sure?"

"Please…"

He sat back in his chair, and felt a strange sensation of relief. He needed a moment to himself, too. "I should probably call my Aunt and let her know."

Jeannie bit her lip and gave him a small nod of agreement.

"I'll just be down the hall if you need me," he said, while shakily standing to his feet.

The entire world seemed to be spinning around him, as a nurse's aide pointed him to the nearest payphone. He tried his damndest, but he just couldn't remember what Helen's phone number was. He had been dialing it for years, but now it was a complete blank. He stood next to the phone for a few seconds…maybe minutes…maybe hours, drumming his fingers against the wall and watching proud father, after proud father march down the hallway with expanding chests, to the nursery, where they could collect their squishy, pink-alive- babies, and bring them back to their waiting wives.

"Hey, buddy… do mind if I use the phone?" An excited voice questioned from behind him.

Jack turned to see, a short young man with a pimply face and thinning brown hair, staring at him with a goofy grin. "Uh…uh… sure…"

The young man stepped around Jack, then expertly dialed a number. As he waited for the call to connect he bounced up and down on his toes, as if he were too exuberant to stand still. "Hello… mom?" The man spoke into the receiver after a few moments. "He is here! Perfect! All ten fingers and toes! Yes…Yes… we will keep you updated! And, please come visit soon! Look, mom, I need to get back to her room! Love you, too!" With that he turned back to Jack and gave him a quick smile. Before walking away, he slapped Jack on the arm, and just assumed that Jack shared the same good news as every other man on the postpartum floor. "Congratulations! It's great to be a dad!"

An unintentional grin whispered on Jack's face, as the young man passed him. This was torture, pure torture. The thoughts of listening to Aunt Helen cry and sniffle into the phone was unbearable, but he preferred it to going back into Jeannie's room and watching her cold eyes stare into him. His childhood home number finally popped into his memory, and he scrambled to dial it before it left again. It took him several tries to key in the correct digits. His fingers were simply not cooperating. Finally, he got it right, and stood listening to the shrill ringing. With each ring, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He felt that if she didn't pick up soon, he was in danger of ripping the phone off the wall and throwing it at one of the passing happy fathers.

_Ring…_

_Ring…_

_Ring…_

Finally the ringing stopped, but rather than being greeted by his Aunt's voice, his ears were met with the sound of her answering machine.

_Leave a message after the beep…_

"Helen... it's Jack. I'm sorry to be calling so late. Uh… I don't know where you are… maybe visiting Molly, but I'm calling to tell you that Jeannie had the baby, and uh… uh… he didn't make it. He's gone. It was just too early." Jack squinted his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I… I don't know what to do. I guess I have to call a funeral home. Maybe? I hope there are people here that can help me with that. I don't know. I will call Molly tomorrow… I don't want to wake up her daughter. I know this isn't something you leave on someone's answering machine, but I am kinda at a loss right now. I'm sorry."

He didn't bother to say goodbye, as he slammed the receiver down. His entire body felt raw, inside and out. The vision of a tiny casket jumped into his mind. A tiny casket, for a tiny baby. He rubbed his eyes to ward off the horrific images, then made his way back to Jeannie's room.

He stopped in the doorway, as he caught sight of her, sitting up in bed and running her hands over her, now much flatter, stomach. She cut her glance to him quickly, then looked back down to the bed. "Where have you been?"

"I… I c-couldn't remember the number. Isn't that stupid? I lived in that house for years, but I couldn't remember the damn number." He managed to pull himself into the room, and to the side of her bed, where he nervously shuffled back and forth on his feet.

"I feel…" She stopped, then looked at him with hooded eyes. "…empty."

"I don't know what to say to you…"

"There is nothin' to say. You lost him, too." She then bit her bottom lip, and wiped a tear that was forming at the corner of her eye. "You know what bothers me? I never got to feel him kick. Never. Yeah, there were plenty of little bubbles that I liked to imagine were him. But, I never felt a real kick, that I knew without a doubt was my boy."

"I'm so sorry, Jeannie."

"The funny thing is, I didn't want a baby. Up until the moment I heard his heartbeat, I wished that he would go away." Her eyes were filled with confusion. "But, once I married the idea… it…it seemed right. I really wanted him."

"I know."

"Where were you tonight? I called the apartment more than once. Then, when I couldn't get you, I called Frankie. Poor guy was gettin' ready for a date. I didn't know what else to do. I thought he might have known where you were."

He wanted to confess his sins to her. The feel of the other woman's skin still tingled beneath his fingers. But, he knew that this wasn't the time.

There would never be a good time.

"I walked around The Bowery for a while, then got a drink. I needed to clear my mind." He then sat on the end of the bed, facing her. "Jeannie, I don't know what happened to me tonight. What you saw inside your parent's home was not me."

"No, it wasn't. You weren't there."

"It won't happen again. I won't let it. But, if I have frightened you, and you don't want to be with me anymore… then I understand, and I don't blame you. Without Patrick, you have nothing holding you here."

"I didn't marry you because of Patrick. I'm not goin' anywhere."

He felt like an iron vice was being tightened around his heart. He was so certain that she was going to leave him that he lost all sense of respect for the vows he made to her. The relief he should have been feeling, was being overshadowed by the repulsion he felt for himself, and his actions.

_You piece of shit! How could you do that to her?_

"I love you, Jeannie." He put his hand over hers, as it trailed across her stomach. "Are you in pain? A C-section is a big surgery."

"Not much. While you were callin' Helen, the doctor came in to check my incision, and she gave me some pain medicine." Jeannie then stopped and appeared to be mulling something over in her head…something that she seemed to not be quite sure if she wanted to say or not. She pursed her lips nervously, then scooted back in the bed, away from his touch. "She told me that the preterm labor was most likely due to stress."

His brow furrowed. "Stress?"

"Yes."

"Stress caused by your husband killing your father, then almost killing your mother."

Her mouth opened as if she were trying to say something, but nothing came out.

"This is my fault. Our son is dead… and…a-and it's all my fault."

"Jac-"

"No!" He stood and lifted his hands slightly so he could look at his open palms. "I have so much blood on my hands… and now I have our son's too. I can't even look at you. How am I ever supposed to look you in the eye again, Jeannie? I killed our son."

"It just happened…"

He shook his head and clamped his jaws together. "I left Frankie down in the ER. I am sure he is just wandering around down there. I should probably tell him to go home."

"Jack?"

His eyes widened and he gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back."

But, he wouldn't. He would find Frankie and send him on his way. He would then ask a nurse if there was bar nearby, and he would stumble across the street to spend a couple of hours drowning his sorrows. It worked earlier that night…why not again?

Their wounds would heal, and soon life would return to normal… or at least, a new normal. Jack would come home, kiss his wife, eat a meal, then either sit and stare at the television or go to sleep. Alcohol became Jack's best friend. Anytime a chink in his armor would appear, he would find his way to the nearest beer joint, usually The Bowery Tavern, and become gloriously, sloppily drunk. The only undertakings they took part in as a couple were fighting and sex… usually one led to the other, and those were the only activities that they did well together.

Jeannie resolved to never have another child. She felt that the loss of Patrick was probably a blessing in disguise. Being a mother was not a job that she would be good at, and she was at ease with just being a couple. In her heart, she just couldn't risk going through the pain again. But, three years after burying their son, there was a mistake. She had a flawless, healthy pregnancy, and on her due date, she delivered a perfectly healthy, seven pound, girl. A girl that looked like her mother, and gave her father a new reason for living. A girl that would be named Heather. Two years later, there would come an eight pound boy, named Sullivan, that his parents would affectionately call Sully. Five years after him, came another girl named Maggie, with curly black hair.

They looked like the perfect family from the outside. The perfect family who behind closed doors would have vicious arguments that would lead to their children hiding under their blankets and wetting their beds. The perfect family, whose perfect father, was a drunk who ignored his wife, and treated his children like they were burdens. The perfect family, whose mother would lose her mind after each child, and then after the last one slice her wrists open.

The perfect family that it would take the husband almost punching the pregnant wife, before they would realize their potential.

The perfect family that would flee the filth of the city to find refuge in the suburbs…

Refuge in the house that Jack built…

* * *

><p>Jeannie looked over her shoulder to Jack, whose body was still draped over their son's headstone. She let out a little sigh, then looked back to her parents. Her father's marker was starting to show its age, but her mother's was still new.<p>

She fished a piece of candy from her pocket and laid it atop her father's grave. "There you go, Daddy. It's lemon… I know those were your favorite." She cut her eyes to her mother. "Sorry, Momma, I didn't have time to get you any Valium, or swing by a liquor store for your vodka." She backed away and placed her hands over her stomach. "Well, it's been nice seein' you two. Jack and I, and the kids… we're all doin' okay. I think everything is goin' to be fine. We're happy… we're goin' to stay that way." She then began to turn. "Bye, I love you…both."

She plodded back to Jack, feeling the soft grass mash under her feet. She took confidence in the words she said to her parents. They were going to be alright. It might have been touch and go, but they were getting their balance. As she reached Jack, she ran her fingers across his shoulders to get his attention. "Are you ready, honey?"

He looked up at her with red, swollen eyes. "Yeah… yeah, let's get out of here." He rose to his feet and took her hand. "You know I love you, right?"

She smiled and wove her fingers between his. "I know. And I love you."

They walked hand in hand, back to their car, and he politely opened the door for her. They sat in silence most of the ride home. His hand clung tightly to her knee, and her upper torso was turned so that she could cross her arms over the open window and lazily lay her chin upon them, so that she could take in the scenery as it passed.

"Y'know, Jean, I think we should take a trip or something." Jack said, quickly glancing at her. "When the kids are out of school, of course."

She sat straight in her seat so she could better hear him. "Where to?"

"Anywhere, but here…"

"That leaves room for a quite a bit of possibility."

"We can take a month of the summer. We'll go visit my sister, then we'll leave the kids with her, and you and I will go somewhere together. We never took a honeymoon, y'know? This could be it."

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Eleven years later."

"Better late than never."

"You're right. Before all of our time is sucked up by the new baby." There was twinge of nervousness in her voice, that Jack easily picked up on.

"Hey, you okay? You sound a little off."

She began to nervously fidget with the charm on her necklace that Jack had given her on their tenth wedding anniversary. It was the perfect opportunity to tell him about the woes that were now plaguing her. The disembodied voices that would call her name, when she was alone or wake her from her dreams. The shrieks from tiny children that would tear through the silence of her home when her children were away. The fear that she was going crazy, and that the baby she was now carrying would only cause her to delve deeper into madness. Turn her into her mother.

But, instead of ruining the tranquility between them, her lips simply quivered into a forced grin. "Yes, of course, I'm always a little unsteady when I leave Patrick. B-but, back to our trip. What about work? Sal won't let you go for an entire month. He barely let you go for three days when Helen died."

Jack shook his head and a little smirk betrayed his efforts to keep his plans secret. "Jeannie…uh… I am planning on leaving Sal's organization soon."

"You are not serious!"

"I am… Arkham Asylum will be hiring guards when it re-opens. Frankie and I have been talking about it. It will be a safe job for us and our families. At first the hours may be a little screwy, but once we get some seniority on our backs, we will be working days, with no weekends. No more killing… no more bullshit being asked of me from an old man, who is too bored and crotchety to care about the ramifications of his decisions."

"And, you will be bringin' home nothin'! Not even half of what you make now. We will lose everything."

"No… no we won't." He swallowed hard, and chose his words carefully. "Look… I got an opportunity coming in about three weeks. It will set us up for life. And, I don't mean scratching by and counting our pennies… I mean we will be living comfortably. Money will never be an issue again."

Her brow knit together. "W-what? What does that even mean? What kind of opportunity?"

"It doesn't matter and it is definitely not something you should worry about."

"But?"

"JEANNIE!" His voice was a little sharper than he meant it to be. "Just let me deal with it. You just take care of yourself and that baby… start thinking of names."

"You know I don't do that until after they are born."

"That's just superstition… picking out a name before the baby is born is not going to make anything bad happen. I was thinking John, after me, for a boy, and maybe Cara for a girl."

"Please… let's just wait."

"Stop worrying so much! We are going to have a great life! The best life! We are going to be so happy, Jeannie! You just wait and see."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! If you have time please go check out EthanFlux's Joker origin story, Joker 1: The Start Of A Joke!<strong>


	19. Chapter 18

**WOW two updates in one week! I am feeling accomplished! Thank you so incredibly much to everyone who has read and reviewed the last chapter! Had a couple of newcomers that I am excited about! I really appreciate you all! Thanks to all of my anonymous reviewers that I have had throughout this story! I don't get to talk to you the way I do the signed reviewers through private messages, but believe me, I keep you all in my thoughts as I write!**

**I wanted to have this story wrapped up a few chapters ago, but it has ended up being longer than I originally intended. Every writer knows you can outline and plan all you want, but things change when you actually put pen to paper, or in this case fingers to keyboard. But, we really only have a handful of chapters left! Let's get to it! Enjoy!**

**Anonymous Rex- I haven't read that particular comic, but now I am interested, and I am going to check it out as soon as I can get my hands on it!:)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 18-<strong>

Owning a house is a pain in the ass.

It was an idea that didn't occur to Jack the first time he pulled his car into the driveway of his newly finished home. The only thing in his view, as he looked up at the pristine, white siding, and listened to the giddy gasps from his children as they poured from the backseat and stampeded towards the spacious backyard, were the possibilities that lay ahead.

"Well…whaddya think, doll? Pretty nice, huh? Ya think you'll be happy here?" he asked with hope to his, still unsteady from being sedated, wife.

Instead of jumping up and down, clapping her hands, and hurrying to her husband's waiting arms to give him a grateful kiss, she gave a couple of curt tugs to the hospital bracelet she still wore, curled her nose and looked at the house, that was so lovingly built for her, with the same amount of contempt that she would give to a prison cell. "I liked The Bowery better."

He may have gotten a better reaction had he not sprung the news, that her home was no longer within the city, but rather amongst the suburban sprawl forty-five minutes away, upon her while she was being released from the psychiatric floor of the Gotham General Hospital. He meant for it to be a surprise, not the summation of all her fears. They had spoken many times before about what their "dream house" would be like, and he built it exactly to her expectations. It was perfect. He built _her _the perfect house, so that she would have a tranquil place to recuperate, and finally be happy.

But, of course, that didn't work out…

Just like the boyish fantasies that all things would be flawless within his home, and always stay that way, didn't work out…

Things that never crossed Jack's worried mind while he was a tenant in Mrs. Burkiss' rundown building, now constantly plagued his thoughts. Things like clogged gutters, soft spots in the floor, and faulty outlets. The squeaky step on the staircase would serve as a constant reminder that his work was never truly over, and the cracks forming in the asphalt driveway, after only one year, would leave him scratching his head.

But, mowing the lawn was one joy of homeownership that Jack did not mind. In fact, he relished in the monotony of it. The tedious lack of surprise that came from pass, after pass across his overgrown sod brought him an overwhelming sense of calm. Nothing about this task involved handguns or red helmet-like masks. He could just enjoy it. He took such pride in his work, that it was a tad bit pathetic. A task that should've been finished in an hour, would take him an entire afternoon- an entire afternoon of judiciously eyeing each blade of grass to make sure it was evenly cut with its neighbor. Then he would go to war- weedeater and edger in tow- with any stray strand of grass. After declaring his dominance over his acre worth of sward, he would sit back upon his front stoop in a testosterone fueled afterglow of satisfaction and survey his kingdom with as much gratification as if he had conquered a country.

And, that was exactly what he was doing this sweltering afternoon.

He wiped the beads of perspiration from his sunburned brow, with the edge of his work gloves, then pulled them off and threw them to the sidewalk in front of him. He was disgusting. He smelled of a pungent mixture of sweat, earth, and the gasoline that he had spilled while filling the lawnmower tank. The armpits of his shirt were stained a grimy yellow, and there wasn't an inch of his clothing that wasn't damp and covered in little shards of grass. His skin was flushed a blotchy red color and the veins across his forearms were protruding out with exertion, and pulsating with each beat of his heart. But, all in all, he felt good, and he was hell bent on enjoying the serenity of being home alone. Which was a rarity for him.

As guilty as it made him feel, he couldn't deny that there was a big part of him that hoped that Jeannie and the kids didn't return home from the local pool anytime soon.

He enjoyed the quietness away from the constant bombardment of: _Oh, thank God you're home, these kids are driving me nuts! Yay, Daddy's home! She did it! No, he did it! Stop that! Spit that out! Stop crying! You hit your sister again and you're going to get it! Make him stop touching me! She's looking at me! Daddy…Daddy…Daddy! Honey, could you fix that? Can you reach that! Could you get that? Take the garbage out! Don't leave that there! Jack! Jack! Are you listening to me? JACK!_

He let out a grunt and closed his eyes!

_Ahhh, silence!_

"Napier!" A gruff voice made his eyes fly open, then squint in the sunlight, as he looked up at a faceless silhouette. He stood steadily, making sure that his shoulders were back and every vertebra in his spine was perfectly aligned to give the maximum effect of his height, to seem both unfazed and maybe a bit threatening.

The brightness of the sun gave way, as he stood toe to toe with his aggressor. _Who dared step upon his freshly cut grass? Shit_. He found Vince Carpenetti standing before him with a noticeably forced smile. "Hey, Napier, didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't," Jack huffed, doing his best to sound affronted. "Can I help ya with something?"

Vince's chin tipped up ever so slightly, and he gave Jack a cool look that made him feel like a guest in his own home, then Vince's demeanor seemed to thaw as a truly friendly grin spread across his face. "Well, I'm trying to fix a leaky pipe in my basement, and it's pretty small… and dammit, I've looked all over the place, but I can't seem to come up with a wrench small enough for the job. You think, you got one that I could borrow?"

Jack's brow furrowed and his head tilted to the side. It looked as if he was mentally running through the various sizes of wrenches within his possession, but he was really contemplating the quality of routineness that their conversation had taken on. Vince had been noticeably absent from the brotherhood of the Napier garage since Jack's birthday party two weeks prior. Really, he hadn't been seen much at all by anyone. Only walking from his car to his house when coming home from work. "I bet he's got himself a girl in the city… Man, what I wouldn't do for that." Todd Willis would always say in his oafish voice, knowing full well that if he ever touched another woman, his wife, Jane, would cut off one of his more important appendages.

"Uh, yeah… I'm sure I got something that will work in the garage," Jack said, swatting at a fly that landed on his arm then buzzed up around his ears. "Why don't you go ahead and look, while I run inside for a minute and get a drink."

Vince's jaw clenched as if he was working up the gumption to say something of deadly importance, but instead he gave a polite nod, then lumbered off towards the garage. Jack watched him for a moment, then inwardly shuddered. There was something off about that guy, but he couldn't quite place it. Jeannie had relieved all of his fears about a secret affair, but there was still something that made his skin prick with anxiety.

The pleasantness that filled his quiet home just moments earlier was completely gone, and replaced by something sinister and underhanded. Something that made Jack feel like the walls were about to fall down around him. He gulped down a big glass of water that hit his stomach with a thud, then stood clutching the countertop. His legs felt like jelly and there was a sharp ache on his left side starting to punch at him from beneath his rib cage. He felt terrible, like he had just had the shit beaten out of him.

The penetrating, high-pitched ring of the telephone sitting next to the sink startled him out of his momentary illness.

"What! Uh… I mean hello," he said in an unnecessarily rough voice, as he shoved the phone to his ear.

"Jack, its Molly."

"Oh…h-hey sis, how ya doing?" His tone softened to something far more pleasant.

"Fine… we're all doing just fine. I haven't talked to you in forever and I wanted to make sure you all are still alive."

"Alive and kicking."

"How are the kids?"

"Being kids… the usual stuff. Sully cut the hair off one of Heather's dolls last night, and that almost brought about the apocalypse."

"Hmm… brothers are such a pain in the ass. I distinctly remember you doing something very similar to me. Like father, like son."

Jack cringed. He hated that expression. He wasn't anything like his father. _He wasn't!_ "I only did that out of retaliation, after you melted my army men in the microwave."

There was a small sigh of nostalgia from Molly, then she moved straight to the next subject. "So how is Jeannie?" There was a disdain in her voice that couldn't be denied. Molly had never really warmed up to Jeannie; far preferring Marybeth. And, after Jeannie's "_accident_", Molly couldn't find it within her to forgive her sister-in-law for what she had put Jack and the kids through.

"Fantastic!" Jack said emphatically. He felt the need to defend his wife from the barbs his sister could so artfully throw. "We're having another baby! It's still early... she's not even really showing yet."

"Wait... a baby...AGAIN?!" The outrage in Molly's voice was palpable.

"Yes, Molly, again!"

"Jesus… don't you think you two should be a little more careful?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I didn't know I was supposed to ask your permission before I sleep with my wife."

"That's not what I meant. It's just that after each baby her crazy gets worse… and not to mention the pregnancies themselves. Every time she gets flakier than she already is. You should've marri-"

"Stop right there!" Jack snapped. "If you start that shit again, then I'm done… don't bother to call back. You've never given her a chance. You've always compared her to Marybeth. Marybeth is a thing of the past, and not something that I would want if I could have. I am married to Jeannie. I have been for a long time… just deal with it already. She's doing great! We are doing great! Everything is great! So please, stop acting like my annoying kid sister."

"_GREAT_!"

Jack sighed. This conversation was taking a turn that he didn't like. "Uh, listen, Molly… I do appreciate your concern for me and the kids. But, really… everything is going perfectly well. We are really happy, and very excited about this baby. It feels like a new start."

Jack could almost hear her purse her lips in defiance. "Ughh… fine then. If you are happy, then I am happy."

"That's all I want." Jack smiled. "We were just talking about coming to visit you… maybe next month."

"Really? She wants to come here?" Molly's tone was beginning to soften and even tingeing on sweet. "That would be a…a wonderful, I suppose!"

"Maybe we could leave the kids with you for a while so we can take a trip, just the two of us?"

"Absolutely, Ava would love that. She gets along so well with her cousins."

"Good. We'll plan it."

"Yes."

"Okay, then. Well, I should be going."

"Love you. See you soon."

"Love you, too. Remember you're my favorite sister." He laughed.

"Funny guy."

With that she hung up the phone, and he stood with the receiver pressed against his ear, as if he were trying to soak in every second with her that he could. There was a sadness in the end of their conversation that Jack didn't understand. He was feeling the same way that he did when he called Helen on the night that she died. Her voice was raspy and small, and indicative of the cancer that was destroying her body- the same cancer that killed his mother. He knew it would be the last time that he talked to her, and now he inexplicably felt the same way about Molly as he finally hung up the phone.

Now to deal with Vince, who he was sure was snorting and twitching with annoyance, over his tardiness. But, as he entered the garage, he found Vince leaning against the hood of the car, his arms folded languidly over his chest, and wearing an unreadable, yet pleasant expression that included an upturn of his lips that didn't quite count as a smile.

"Did ya find what you were looking for, Vince?"

"Yeah," Vince's grin began to stretch. "Yeah. I found just what I was looking for."

Jack's mouth dried upon hearing the edge in Vince's voice. "Good… keep it as long as you like. If ya need any help just let me kno-." Then he noticed it. Stretched behind Vince, across the hood of his black car, was a large white paper. No…no wait. Not just any paper. _Oh, God, no!_ It was a map of the Ace Chemical Company… his map… his map that was covered with dates, and times, and codes… his map, that step, for step, planned out the biggest job of his life.

Now, Jack had a decision to make.

Obviously a confrontation was about to ensue… but how was it going to end?

Maybe he simply needed to make up a bullshit story to explain it all away? After all, just because Vince had the map, didn't mean that he knew anything.

_No, look at that smug smile… of course he knows._

_First things first... find out what he knows_…

"What do ya got there, Vince?" Jack asked, with the same amount of alarm that he would use if he were asking about the weather.

"Y'know, Napier, at first I didn't know myself." He reached around and pulled the map into his view. "Then I recognized the codes. They are all the security codes, right? You got this all planned out, don't ya?"

Jack looked Vince straight in the eye, completely deadpan. It was of the utmost importance that he not show his hand. This job meant everything. How could he have been so careless as to allow that map to get into the wrong hands? Who would have thought that Vince Carpenetti's hands would be the wrong ones? Vince spent his life amongst the acrid smell of chemicals, and behind laboratory beakers. He was a nerd. An egghead. A guy who married a girl that was so desperate for a husband that she was willing to sit around and listen to him talk endlessly about the periodic table. A guy who'd lucked into a bigwig job with a good salary. A guy who looked at Jeannie like she were made of gold. A guy that Jeannie looked at as if he were made of gold. A guy that made Jack feel almost as inadequate as Bruce Wayne did. At least Jack could rest assured that Vince had never put his hands on Jeannie.

Lying was not Jack's strong suit and he knew it, but right now he also knew that he had to give the best performance of his life. His future... his family's future depended upon it. "Have what planned?"

"Don't play stupid!" Vince hissed. The entire shape of his face seemed to change, and whatever hint of pleasantry that might have been lingering around, was gone.

Jack nervously sucked on his teeth for a moment, as if he was trying to dislodge a piece of food. Anything to buy him some time to think. To try to sort this mess out before it spiraled out of control. "That is mine, Vince. I don't know how you even found it."

"I found it at your birthday party. You should have put it somewhere more secure than behind the backing of a toolbox." He looked at Jack as if he were looking at a bug. "It all makes sense now. This is how you get all of your money, right? This isn't the first time… couldn't be."

"Look, I don't know what you think you're looking at, but it's just a map. A plain old map... nothing special"

"Nothing special? Are you kidding. It's a map set up to walk through a robbery. A big one, too. A robbery on June 15th. That's _this_ Friday, so I am guessing you are gonna be a rich man on Saturday. New life?"

Jack had to think of something fast. Everything was starting to fall apart. "I got that map when I hired on at Ace. I put the codes on it to make life easier until I learned them for myself. There is a good explanation for everything that is on that piece of paper. There is... you just have to take the time to listen."

"I'm not listening to your bullshit."

"It's not bullshit." Jack's voice was beginning to drip with desperation. He was running out of options.

"I thought for a long time about what to do with this." Vince held up the map so that it was just out of Jack's reach. "Go to Ace security? Go to the police? Throw it away and just forget about it?"

Jack tried to appear aloof as he eyed the map, but he knew that the panic behind his eyes must have been glowing like a beacon. "Just forget about it Vince. It's really nothing. Besides, let's say you did take it to the cops, it's just a map with a bunch of numbers scribbled on it. What are they going to do with that? It's fucking nothing!"

Vince let out a haughty laugh then folded his arms, letting the map dangle from his fingers in such lethargy that he seemed to be daring Jack to take it from him. "It's enough for them to investigate you, how you get your money, and the fake corporation you work for. So no, it's not fucking nothing!"

Jack felt like they had come to a stalemate, and there were no more maneuvers to attempt to hoist himself out of the hole he had fallen in. Nothing left to do but either kill Vince or negotiate. He didn't want to kill his neighbor… he really, really didn't want to do that. He couldn't stand watching Vince's wife, Elizabeth, grieve over the husband that she loved so much. He couldn't live with guilt of watching Vince's three young sons grow up without a father. He grew up without a father; he knew how life altering it could be. But, wait, why was he worrying about Vince's wife and children? What about his own wife and children? Vince was threatening to take away his life. Jeannie would have to look at him from behind a pane of Plexiglas on visitation day at Blackgate Penitentiary. Who knows when he would see his children again. His daughters would have no one to scare the hell out of boys that came to pick them up for dates, or give them away on their wedding days. Sully wouldn't have someone to share his first beer with, or ask advice about the mystery that is woman. His unborn child would never know him.

_NO!_

No! He wouldn't let that happen.

There had to be a solution that didn't involve either of their families being left alone. Jack bit down on his tongue as he tried to come up with the perfect plan, then swatted away another fly that was buzzing around him. _What's with these goddamned flies?_

"What do you want from me, Vince?"

Vince's eyes narrowed and he rubbed the back of his neck as if he were giving it some thought. "What _do_ I want? Y'know I couldn't figure out why you picked June 15th. Yeah, it's payday, but there are lots of paydays. Then it clicked…that's the payday that we get our bonuses. You knew that because you've heard me talk about it for months." Vince's face seemed to light up with the idea that he had been feeding Jack information. "That's good planning on your part. You are going to take my paycheck and my bonus, along with about six thousand other people. It's brilliant really. I didn't take you for being that smart, Napier! Bravo!"

"What do you want?" Jack shouted through gritted teeth.

"I want in on it."

The rigidity in Jack's body fell all at once. He expected Vince to want Jack's family to move out of Crown Point Estates, or maybe out of the city completely, but he didn't even have a hint that Vince might want a cut. Yeah. That was the solution... a cut of it. Jack could work with that. He was truly astonished that it would be so easy. "W-what?"

"I figure you have some partners in this, and you will get a cut. I want your share."

"My share? My entire share?"

"Yes. Consider yourself working for me now. You get me the money, and I will give you your freedom." Vince's inward belief that his plan was genius shined across his face.

"No." Jack stood defiant. "No! I am not going to risk my freedom, or my life, for that matter, just so _you_ can be fat and happy. No!"

Vince's fingers began to carefully fold the map before placing it in his pocket, then the corners of his lips pulled into a sardonic frown and he gave a slight shrug. "Fine… your choice. Hmmm, I wonder where your family will end up. Probably back in an inner city apartment that isn't much bigger than the jail cell you will be rotting in."

Jack sighed in disbelief. "So, you're going to blackmail me? Shake me down?"

"I prefer to call it redistributing wealth… but we can call it whatever you like."

"How thoughtful."

"I am thoughtful." Vince said, with a small chortle "I am also generous… in fact, I am so generous, that I am going to give you some time to think about it. I am pretty fond of your wife and kids, so I want you to make the best decision for them. Today is Sunday, so I will give you until Wednesday. That's plenty of time to make the best choice_ for your family._"

This could not be happening! Everything was going so well… now this. That money was supposed to cushion his life, so he could get an easy, safe job. A job that would not lead to the possibility of coming home to find his family maimed or murdered, because he didn't carry out an order to the exact specifications of a decaying old man. He was supposed to spend more time with his kids and help his wife. Go on lengthy vacations, and not ever have to search under the couch cushions for loose change again. This was supposed to be their salvation, and now it was destroyed. The only feasible choice was to carry out the job and give Vince the money. He could still work with the Red Hood Gang if need be. But, of course, Jack would be stuck working for Sal, until… just until…

The ache on his left side, beneath his ribs started to build again. And with every hot stream of pain that shot through Jack's body, his anger rose. If it were not for the sound of Jeannie's car pulling into the driveway, Jack would have used his bare hands to rip Vince's head from his shoulders.

"Heather, could ya take Maggie in for me, and put her in the playpen, please? Sully, don't leave your shoes in the middle of the doorway this time, son. I don't know how many times I have to tell you." Jeannie's voice sweetly lightened the tension in the air.

Jack kept his eyes fixed on Vince, whose own gaze had moved longingly to Jeannie. And, as soon as Jack turned to glance at his wife, he understood why. She looked stunning as she strolled towards the two men. Her hair hung around her shoulders in wild curls that shined in the light. Her skin had soaked in the sun while lying next to a pool all day and now was an attractive, healthy shade of brown with smatterings of pink over the bridge of her nose, across her cheeks, and atop her shoulders. The evidence of the bikini she had worn all day shined brightly in pale tan lines that circled her chest and ended around her neck. She wore a flimsy, strapless, white swimsuit cover-up that made it easy to fantasize that she had nothing on underneath, and cat eyed sunglasses that made her look young and carefree.

She pushed her sunglasses atop her head, and her blue eyes radiated against her now tan skin, making her look intimidating beautiful. "Hey boys, how ya doin'?"

"Uh, fine. We were just looking for a wrench," Jack said, kissing the top of her head, that smelled of chlorine and suntan lotion. "Did you all have fun?"

"Lots!" A big, bright smile pulled at her lips. "Heather's back is burnt, and as you know, our drama queen thinks she needs to be in a burn unit. And, Sully scraped his knee on a rock… but other than those _catastrophes_, it was a pretty successful trip."

Jack gave her a tight grin. "Good." She looked so healthy and vibrant. Better than he'd seen her look in years… maybe better than ever. And, it poured salt in the wound that Vince had gashed opened.

Her eyes then turned to Vince, and widened with a hint of alarm, almost as if she had forgotten that he was standing in the same space. "Vince," she regarded him coolly, while looking up and down the length of his tall body, sizing him up. "How are you and Elizabeth? The kids? Haven't seen you in a while"

"Fine, thank you. We've just been busy."

The truth was, he had been busy. Busy, both figuring out Jack's plot, and trying to avoid Jeannie. Of course, he had seen her through the window, standing in her living room and talking dramatically, making full use of her hands. One night he'd watched her standing in the garage, trading friendly, goodhearted insults with Todd Willis, while Jack looked on with a proud, _that's my girl _grin. He'd heard her voice calling to her children in the backyard, or to Jack from the bedroom window. He did his best to forget all of the attractive things about her that he found so tantalizing and irresistible. Instead, he tried to only commit to memory the bad things about her. The way her voice would become petulant and whiny when she was tired. The way her shoulder blades stuck out so sharply that they looked like they might puncture through her skin. The way her flesh bore many scars: one surgical scar running up the length of her right leg, another rougher mystery scar across her right upper arm, then two jagged scars across her wrists, that were still far too pink and fleshy to not be covered up. Obviously, at one time, not too long ago, she was mentally unstable. And how, when in a group of people, she would turn into a brazen snob that looked at everyone with half lidded eyes like a highborn queen amongst the commoners.

But, now… oh… but, now as he looked at her holding onto Jack's arm, he completely forgot everything unfavorable about her. Now he could only remember the way her face looked as tears caused by missing her husband streamed down her cheeks. The softness of her touch as she ran her hands across his forearms as he configured a plan for them to run away together. _Bring your kids, Jeannie. We'll leave this place and I will be a better man to you, and father to your kids than Jack could ever be. _The warmth that radiated from her skin as he placed his lips upon hers, and positioned his body atop her small frame. Then the disappointment that he felt as she pushed away from him. _No, Vince… I can't._

"Tell Elizabeth that Jane Willis is coming over Tuesday morning around nine to have breakfast and just chat… she's welcome to join us." Jeannie said warmly.

"I will."

She then turned to Jack and grabbed his left hand, bringing it up to her view so that she could look at his wristwatch. "Dinner is at five." She then dropped his hand and looked at Vince. "It was nice to see you."

There was something in her eyes as she looked at Vince that broke Jack's heart. It was a sparkle that he always thought she held just for him. It confirmed all of his worst fears, that there was something much deeper than just a casual flirtation between his wife and his neighbor. Something that was either cooling or heating up. Something that was unfair, and something that he had cultivated by his disinterest.

She then gave them both a coquettish smile before whirling away towards the house. Jack's eyes immediately snapped back to Vince who stood watching Jeannie walk away with a wistful, ghost of a smile, like he had never seen anything so beautiful before in his life, and if he were to drop dead that very moment his deepest regret would be to have never made love to her.

For about half a minute there was no noise except that of Andrew Ryan's garage door opening as he pulled into his driveway. Finally, Vince realized that he was gone in a dream land in which he only lived in with Jeannie Napier, and he looked back to Jack with a mixture of scorn and amusement. Then Vince noticed that Andrew was hovering in his driveway just in case he needed to break up a fight between his two neighbors. "Looks like we got an audience. We better make it good." He offered a friendly hand for a parting shake.

Jack looked over his shoulder to Andrew then back to Vince's hand. With a distaste that showed fully across his face, Jack heartily took hold of Vince's offered hand, simply for the benefit of his worried neighbor that was suddenly playing _neighborhood watch_. "You're a worthless prick, Vince… I hope you know that."

Vince smiled, holding on to Jack for just a second too long. "Wednesday, Napier."

"Piss off, Carpenetti."

With a laugh, Vince strolled down the driveway and started across the cul-de-sac. "Hey, Andy!" He said while throwing up a friendly hand to Andrew, then like he had forgotten something, he half turned back to Jack. "Hey, Napier, if you find a wrench that you think might work… _let me have it!"_

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Next chapter is written and should be up in a few days!<strong>


	20. Chapter 19

**Make that three updates in one week! Thanks everyone! Please enjoy!**

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><p>"<strong>Drown the kids, and shoot the neighbors…"<strong>

**-The Joker, Joker's Millions**

**Chapter 19-**

Jack was fully aware of the fact that he had a bad temper. It was never something that he tried to deny, or even hide for that matter. Of course, he would give it, the old college try, when it came to keeping it in check, but normally he failed and would turn into a writhing, tantrum throwing child.

But, surprisingly, this _wasn't _one of those times.

Watching the way Vince's shoulders hung loosely and calmly, allowing his arms to bounce with good cheer, as he walked to his home made Jack seethe. He knew what he wanted to do, but not what he _should _do. Oh, how wonderful it would have felt to chase Vince down, pull out a pistol, and send a bullet crushing through his skull, then stand and watch as a pool of blood haloed around his head. As tempting as the thought may have been, it certainly wouldn't have been the most prudent thing to do with Andrew still ambling around in his driveway, picking at weeds that had grown through the cracks.

Then, Jack felt like throwing his hands up over his head, and shaking them wildly, as he screamed every profanity that he could think of up into the heavens like a lunatic. But, instead, he pocketed both fists and rocked forward and backwards, from heel to toe, as he gritted his teeth so violently that he thought they all might crumple to powder.

He felt that he might be going crazy….how much easier his life might have been if he were born insane instead of being driven that way. Those poor schmucks that lived their lives inside padded walls with their arms bound in straightjackets were the lucky ones. Those who thought that they were earthworms or talked to lamp-posts… they had it all figured out.

He stood long enough to watch Vince complete the journey across the cul-de-sac, before deciding it was time to retreat inside his own home. As he went, he decided to blow off a little steam and sent a kick, worthy of a world class soccer player, thudding against a bucket full of randomly collected items that went tumbling and scrapping across the cement floor. It may have left a mess for Jack to clean up but, oh boy, did it feel good.

The swirls of chaos hit Jack immediately as he opened the kitchen door. The entire house looked and felt like it was about to shake apart. Damn Vince Carpenetti for blackmailing him, for coveting Jeannie, and for ruining the few minutes of peace and tranquility he might have had. The sound of a braying donkey coming from a cartoon that Heather was watching in the living room was the lead instrument in the frenzied orchestra playing within the walls of the Napier house. It was accompanied by the not so sweet sounds of Sullivan making shooting noises as he shot a suction-cup gun at a mirror, the roaring coming from a boiling pot of water on the stove, and the banging of Maggie drumming wooden spoons across the top of her highchair as she swung her black curls in joy. He suddenly felt queasy at the thought that, not too far in the future, there would be a screaming newborn added to the mix.

His eyes instinctively scanned the room for his wife. He WAS NOT going to walk into this war without her motherly scolding to use as a shield or ammunition- whichever he may have needed. She stood at the open refrigerator with the door propped up against her back, holding a package of chicken in one hand, and steaks in the other. She studied them both, her eyes bouncing back and forth, trying to make the decision that would please everyone. She still looked as lovely as she did in the garage, now wearing a pair of cutoffs that could have stood to be an inch longer, and an old gray t-shirt with no sleeves, that had a hole forming around the collar. Her wild hair had been tamed into a ponytail, with little tendrils defiantly falling away at the front. For a split second he forgot about everything bad in his life, and felt like a real family man.

"What's it matter to you? You don't eat that stuff anyway…right?" he mocked, while closing the door behind him.

Usually, this is when her brow would drop and lips would flatten out before something incredibly strident and nasty would fly out of her mouth, but today she looked up to him with a pleasant smile and threw the steaks back into the refrigerator. "Hey there, good lookin'. I didn't even see you."

"So chicken then?" He sounded a bit disappointed.

"Chicken and vegetables… it's healthy."

He frowned. "Since when has that been a worry of yours? Weren't you the one who ate three…no four, helpings of cotton candy at the county fair last year?"

"I'm pregnant… that's my excuse."

"You weren't then."

"Would you like to cook? If so, have at it… if not, be quiet before I find an interestin' place to shove this." She held up a spatula, brandishing it like weapon, and doing her best to keep a straight face.

He grabbed her hand and gave her a quick kiss. "When you put it like that… healthy sounds GREAT!"

"Don't worry Honey, I bought some ice cream and hid it at the back of the freezer so the kids wouldn't see it. It's all ours," she said conspiratorially, as she wrapped her arms tightly around his torso, laid her head upon his chest, and dug her fingers into his back. Even though he stunk of yard work, she wanted nothing more than to be close to him. They were acting like a normal, happy couple, and it made her feel like crying.

He leaned back a little to get a better look at her face. "We are such good parents."

"Aren't we, though?" She kept her face peered down as she backed away and wiped a wayward, misty tear from her eye. "Napier, could you reach that big servin' plate on the top shelf for me."

He circled around her, easily grabbing the plate and bringing it down to the counter-top. He knew that she only asked this task of him for his benefit. She used a chair to get it up to its home on the highest shelf; she could have used the same technique to get it down. But, instead she asked him, just like she did every time she needed to use that particular plate. She did it to make him feel like a husband…like he was needed. Like if something awful were to happen to him, then she would never use it again because it was too high up for her to reach. It was sweet in its simplicity.

"Thank you," she said, running her hand along its smooth surface to clear the dust that had settled. "Jack, Sully has been hintin' around all day about playin' catch with you this evenin' … maybe after dinner you could do that with him?"

"Sure," he said with a pleased nod.

"And, he wants to play t-ball in a summer league."

"Really?" Jack's eyebrows shot up in excitement. Finally his son was interested in something other than holding onto his mother's apron strings.

"Yes… it's just one of those silly walk on leagues that everyone earns a trophy, but it seems to mean a lot to him. The games are on Saturdays… and he wants _you_ to take him. I think it would be really good for the both of you to do somethin' just father and son."

Jack's entire body seemed to reverberate with eagerness. "Of course it would be!"

"So you'll do it," she said matter-of-factly. "There is a team meetin' _this_ Saturday… then games every week after that."

Jack mentally started to check off the things he needed to do that week. Wednesday night he had to take Sal to a meeting downtown, something important- which was news to him, since he basically ran Sal's operation. Thursday he was going to the doctor with Jeannie, and was pretty excited to hear his unborn child's heartbeat. Friday was the Ace Chemical job…_shit_… he had to deal with Vince sometime before that. But, Saturday, as long as everything went according to plan, he should be free… and rich… and perfectly capable of taking his son to a t-ball league meeting.

"That sounds perfect."

"Well, he is goin' to ask you about it tonight, and he is very nervous to do it, so I want you to act as interested and as enthusiastic as you possibly can…okay?" She then looked at him with, what he imagined, was the same look that appeared in a mother bears eyes when one of her cubs was being threatened.

"I think I can manage that."

The rip-your-guts-out glare smoothed from her face as quickly as it appeared and she turned on her toes, ponytail swaying, back to the stove. "I know you will. Dinner will be soon, better go wash up."

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><p>Jack stood in the shower letting the stinging hot water run down his body, and watching the flakes of grass and dirt circle the drain before disappearing. The only light in the room came from a small, circular window, cut next to the sink, and he appreciated the solitude that the darkness brought along with it. He could still hear the commotion down stairs, but it was mostly squelched by the rhythmic pounding of the water.<p>

His eyes moved to the myriad of soaps and beauty products, that belonged to his wife, lining the ledge. All designed to make a woman irresistible… all that would be completely ignored by any man. Truly, had Jeannie been rolled in mud, and put in front of him, he would have found her just as attractive. In fact, he preferred the barefooted, naked-faced version of his wife who was at that moment scampering about their kitchen, to that of the overly made-up, overly contrived "beautiful person" that she tried so hard to be. His eyes then traveled to a strand of her hair that was stuck to the wall. For some reason, that single piece of her made him remember the gleam she had in her eye as she looked at Vince. The shimmer that made Jack realize that she had feelings for the neighbor across the cul-de-sac… or at least did at one time. He started to wonder how far their relationship had gone. Had Vince touched her? Kissed her? Slept with her?

Was the baby…_oh, no_… was it Vince's?

As he looked at her pretty, sun kissed face in the kitchen, it hadn't occurred to him to be angry with her. But, now, he was irate. He was sickened with the thought of another man's hands on his wife. _His wife!_

In acrimony he slammed both his hands against the cool, tile wall. What was most enraging was the fact that it was really his fault. Had he actually been with his family, instead of doing everything possible to avoid them, maybe his wife wouldn't have tried to find solace in the arms of another man.

Moments like this would usually cause Jack to stalk around his home, slamming every door in his path, and bark at his wife and children like a pit-bull, before jumping in his car to aimlessly drive for a few hours. Then he would stop at every hole-in-the-wall beer joint that he would come across between the dot on the map he had driven to and his home. He would indulge his greatest vice, and occasionally pick a fight with another drunk just to make himself feel more like a man. Once or twice, he may have smiled at a pretty girl and exchanged a few flirty words, but he would never let it go too far. Then he would stumble back into his home, in the wee hours of the night, to pass out on the couch and bask in the knowledge that he was really sticking it to his wife… or to whomever he was angry with at the moment.

But, this evening he didn't want to do that. That was the _old_ Jack Napier. Tonight he wanted to play catch with his son and tuck his daughters into bed. After all of his children were sleeping…then, and only then, would he confront his wife and get the truth out of her.

He stood straight in the stream of water, then, almost in an act of contrition, turned the knob to cold and forced himself to endure the icy droplets for a full minute before backing away. The frigidness was enough to shake him out of his blind rage, and quite literally cool him down.

He would not ruin this evening for his son.

He quickly dried his body, scowled at the reflection of his father staring back at him from the mirror, dressed, put on a smile… and transformed into Jack Napier: Husband and Father.

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><p>"Okay, Sully, right here in the pocket," Jack coaxed, squatting down and lightly punching his baseball mitt. He was feeling pretty satisfied with himself. He managed to get through the entire dinner without even giving off the slightest air of annoyance. To his family, everything was completely fine. He closed his hand causing the glove to slap together, then reopened it, encouraging his son. "Show me what ya got!"<p>

Sullivan looked at the ball that he held tightly in his right hand. His fingers pressed into its leather casing with so much force that his nails were blanching white. He wanted so badly to impress his father, of whom he worshiped. Sullivan often got lost in the mix between his very vivacious older sister and toddler younger sister. He was quiet and, taking after his father, unusually tall for his age, which led to his awkward clumsiness. He had also taken up the habit of thumb sucking, since he witnessed his mother being taken out of their apartment, bleeding and half dead. Getting the sole attention of his father was a rarity, and he wasn't entirely sure how to act. After taking one last look, he lifted the ball far behind his head and with all of his might, lobbed it towards his father's waiting hand, and missed completely.

Jack sprang up quickly, but failed to catch the ball that was flying several feet to the left of its intended target, before it could roll away into the woods.

"I'll get it, Dad!" Sullivan chirped, trying to make himself seem more mature by fixing his own mistake.

Jack turned towards the tree line and shielded his eyes from the setting sun, as he tried to determine just where the ball landed. "No, no… it's okay. There are snakes back there. I'll get it. Good try, though! You got some arm on ya, there boy! With a little more practice, who knows, you might be pitching for the Yankees someday!" He looked over his shoulder and gave his son a half smile, then jogged after their misplaced baseball.

"You really think so, Dad?" Sullivan called out as his expression erupted into a face splitting grin.

"Sure," Jack shouted back proudly. "Just give me a second."

A smile crossed Jeannie's own face as she watched her two favorite men have such a sweet exchange. She knew how badly Sullivan wanted Jack's approval, and craved for his attention. If only Jack knew how much a few kind words meant to his son, who tried so desperately to be the man of the house while his father was away.

As she sat on her back patio, feeling the warm evening sun on her skin, she felt a certain amount of pride in how far she had come. Just a year prior, she was lying, strapped to a bed, on the psychiatric floor of the Gotham General Hospital. Now, she was watching her completely devoted, completely involved husband, tromping through brushy undergrowth and looking for a lost ball. Her son was waiting patiently for his father to return, so they could resume their game of catch… just like any other normal father and son. It was only a few months prior that one of her and Jack's more vicious arguments had broken out in front of Sullivan, and she'd found him a few hours later lying in the middle of his bedroom floor, staring up at the ceiling and sucking his thumb with urine soaked pants. Her oldest daughter was acting like an average kid again, too. Especially now as she, with exasperation, tried to teach her younger sister the newest ballet moves she'd learned in dance class, only to be met by Maggie jumping up and down, waving her arms, and shaking her backside, while buckets of drool and ear-piercing giggles fell from her four-toothed mouth. "NO, MAGGIE! You gotta point your toes… Mommy, make her point her toes!" Jeannie had recovered! She really did it! She was happy and well. Yes, she may have been having a few problems, but she was dealing with them. With the help of two therapy sessions a week, the voices had completely quieted.

The last time she'd heard them, was a few weeks ago, on the day that she and Jack had visited Patrick. It'd been an emotional, stress-packed day, so after putting the kids to bed, Jack receded out to the garage with Todd Willis to tinker around on the car and drink a few beers while bitching about the coach of the local minor-league baseball team. Jeannie was standing in her bedroom, with dripping wet hair and nothing on but her underwear and one of Jack's old olive-drab green t-shirts that he'd worn while in the Marine Corps. As she'd pulled the t-shirt up around her stomach so she could spread a lotion over her skin that supposedly helped reduce stretch-marks, she could hear Jack and Todd's voices growing louder and louder as they became more and more drunk. If they didn't quiet down soon, there was going to be hell to pay. All three children were asleep, and she would be damned before those two fools woke them up.

As, she let the shirt fall over her hips, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. For the slightest of moments she could see the lithe, young dancer that she once was, reflecting back at her. She hadn't tried it in years, but maybe, just maybe, she could get her leg to cooperate long enough to allow her to perform her favorite move, the Promenade en arabesque- just to prove to herself that she still could. She scooped all of her hair up and tied it into a messy knot on the top of her head, then stared at herself in the mirror for a few moments. After taking in a long, steadying breath, she arched her eyebrows in defiance, lengthened her neck, and moved her body into first position. As on instinct, her left leg began to rise behind her, while her right arm moved forward and her left went out to the side. Her leg felt sturdy, and she felt confident to proceed- that was until, she started to turn. A sharp, searing pain shot up the length of her right leg, forcing her to drop out of position and grab her ankle, with a shrill squawk of pain.

"Stupid… stupid, girl!" she scolded, as her fingers trailed up the scar that had been left by the surgery to set her breaks.

"**MOMMY! HELP ME!"**

The cry was so startling that it made Jeannie's heart jump into her throat, and what was even more alarming was that she couldn't discern which child it'd come from. Something terrible had happened. One of them had fallen from their bed and broken a bone, or woken deathly ill. Ignoring the pain that was still crippling her leg, she bounded down the hallway with the speed and agility of a gazelle. She slowed long enough to sling open Maggie's door first. No.. no.. that was stupid, Maggie was still simply calling her Ma… there was no way she could scream out an entire sentence. Then she moved on to Sullivan, who was sleeping soundly, clutching a stuffed dinosaur. "Heather," she said, with panic, as she raced to her oldest child's door. But, again, her daughter was deep asleep, with her mouth hanging open.

Jeannie's face shattered into that of a person who had just received horrific news, and her entire body quivered as she steadied herself against the open door-frame. She heard a child scream Mommy. She did! It was as clear as if they had been standing in the room with her. She ran her hands over her face a few times, then puffed out her cheeks and let out a heavy breath before walking back to her bedroom. She felt a shiver run up her spine as she realized that the cry for a mother's help was just in her head and something only she could hear. But, one thing that wasn't in her head, was the overly loud, overly boisterous cackles and regaled stories coming from the garage.

With all of her frustration and strength, she marched to the window and flung it open. "Hey! Will you two shut up! Ja-" Her words hitched in her throat as she realized that she was talking to empty space. The garage door was tightly shut, and all of the lights were dark.

"NO! NO! NO!" she demanded of herself, backing away from the window and covering her face.

She was going crazy… completely off her rocker. She heard them, just like she'd heard the child's cries. Now, more than ever, the inevitability of becoming her mother was glaringly evident. Hot tears began to flow down her face, and for the next ten minutes she would stand with her fingers clutching the bedpost in a death-grip, with shoulders bouncing and her jaws clamped tightly shut, silently sobbing.

Then a wonderful thought entered her mind. Maybe Todd was just leaving when she heard them outside. Maybe she had opened the window just as Jack had turned off the last light. He was around there, somewhere. She had to find him so he could tell her how sorry he was for being so loud… unknowingly easing her fears.

She trotted down the stairs into the darkness of the first floor. "Jack," she whispered hopefully. Maybe he had decided to not chance waking her or the kids, so he camped out on the couch. She tip-toed into the living room, scraping her hand up and down the wall, searching for the light switch. Even though she had lived there for a year, the light switches still evaded her, every time she entered a darkened room.

"Jack?" She again called into the blackness.

Nothing.

Then her search moved to the kitchen- the empty kitchen. She stood at the counter for a moment, and placed her hands flat down against the surface. Where was he? Then out of the corner of her eye, she noticed through the kitchen window a momentary spark of fire from a match-head being brought to the end of a cigarette.

She stood at the back door, watching him through the glass sit at an awkward angle on the patio steps. His back was pressed against the top newel post and his left leg was bent sharply in front of him. The cigarette hung off his lips so loosely, that the only indication that he remembered that it was still there was the brief glow of orange coming from its tip every time he inhaled. His profile looked pensive and preoccupied as he stared off towards the woods. She didn't really know how to approach him. Should she come at him with annoyance for being too loud? Question him about Todd? Tell him the entire truth? She moved her jaw from side to side for a moment, and then smoothly walked out onto the patio. "There you are."

He startled at her voice, then his mouth dropped into something that could only be described as a half grin, half frown. "Hey, Jeannie-girl. Couldn't sleep?"

Her bare feet padded across the wooden planks slowly, as she tried think about how she wanted to answer. "Where's Todd?" she inquired as she reached him then positioned herself so that she was kneeling between his legs, with her feet perched upon a step.

"Could only stay long enough, to tell me that he couldn't stay." He looked at her in confusion, then put a soft, concerned hand on her arm. "I don't know what the neighbors will think about you scarce attire, but I'm not complaining."

With that she began to weep, and her entire body fell forward against his chest so quickly that he barely had time to open his arms to catch her. "Shh…shh…shh… what's wrong?"

"Oh, it's nothing', Jack. I'm just bein' silly…really. Just hold on to me for a while, okay?"

"Okay." He whispered against her hair and tightened his grip on her. They stayed like that until the sky began to lighten to a pretty gray/ blue that announced the coming dawn. In their silence and warm embraces, they decided to set aside any grudges... and just be. They were the happiest they'd ever been... or ever would be again.

"Got it!" Jack said, as he returned, holding the ball up with as much enthusiasm as a child. "You ready to give this another try, Sully?"

Jeannie stood, then walked to the rail, draping her arms over its top. "Son, have you asked your Dad yet?" She knew that he hadn't, and she wanted to make sure he didn't lose his nerve.

"Ask me what?" Jack said, giving Jeannie as sly wink, then turning to his boy.

Sullivan suddenly felt as self-conscious and nervous, as he would if he were about to ask his favorite athlete for an autograph. He really, really wanted to shove his thumb in his mouth, but instead put both hands in his pockets; a tip his sister had given in one of her more kindly moments. _Sully, just put your hands in your pockets, or busy them with somethin' else if ya feel like suckin' your thumb… that way daddy won't give you that look. _

"Well, dad," he started with hunched shoulders and fleeting eye contact. "I really want to play t-ball this summer… lots of my friends are …a-and c-could you take me to the games…please… sir?"

Jack's nostrils flared as he breathed in a huge, prideful stream of air. He then strolled to his son's side, placed his big hand over Sullivan's little shoulder and gave it a hard squeeze. "Nothing would make me happier."

The rest of the evening was just as placid, and soon Sullivan was catching and throwing the ball with as much ease as his father. After the family retired to the house for the night, Jack sprawled out across the couch to read a newspaper and watch the evening news on the television at the same time- a habit that annoyed his wife to no end- while Jeannie read a book, and kids played down the hallway. Occasionally, he would make a comment to no one about an article he was reading, or look up and argue with the "talking-heads" on the television about politics. He then volunteered to put the kids to bed so Jeannie could continue to relax… really it was to avoid the coming argument. He had forgotten about Vince while he played with his children, but now every time he looked at Jeannie, Vince's hands sliding up her thighs was all he could think of.

By the time the kids were asleep he was again fuming with anger. He stood at the bottom of the staircase for a few minutes trying to rein it back in. The last thing he wanted to do was just come at her, accusing her of screwing the neighbor, and questioning the paternity of their unborn child. He found her no longer reading, but instead sitting at the kitchen table with an open container of chocolate ice cream that she was devouring.

As she noticed him standing in the doorway, she reached out a spoon to him, and waved it back and forth, with a playful, come-hither look. "Our little secret."

His entire body went tight as he imagined her baring the same look and saying those same words to Vince as she took him into her arms. It made him feel nauseous, and angry, and hurt. He sat down across from her, quietly taking the spoon from her fingers. He had absolutely no appetite, in fact, the thoughts of merely putting something inside of his mouth made him retch.

"What's wrong?" Her coy expression fell a little as she noticed that he wouldn't quite look her full in the face.

"Nothing."

She gave him her thin lipped, nervous grin, then went on to talk at a rapid pace about everything from Sullivan's t-ball. "This will be really good for him, Jack!" To the weather. "It's been sorta hot since school let out. We need a little rain, but then again, I would hate for the kids to have to be cooped up in the house all day." Between each sentence she would stick a full spoon into her mouth, flip it over so that her tongue would scrape off the remnants, then shove it back into the carton.

He only answered with disinterested grunts and snorts, and the occasional well-timed nod.

After realizing, she had eaten half the ice cream by herself she put her spoon down in embarrassment on a napkin. "I'm pregnant," she said to herself as she folded her hands on to the table top. "Y'know Jack… the kids really liked the pool today. Maybe that is somethin' we should start doin' with them on Sundays. I know they would like it if you came along."

He almost said, _"Sundays are when I mow the grass." _But, he stopped himself before he could say those callous words. That's something he would have said back when he was a bad father. Instead, he now tipped his head to the side and sighed, "yeah, that would be fine."

"Good," she said, feeling the tension that was beginning to become too much to ignore. "So," she started timidly, although she was doing her best to sound casual. "I was kinda startled to see Vince out there… he doesn't really come around unless Todd or Andrew is here. You two gettin' along better? Male egos in check?" She then made her little wheezy laugh that she always did when she knew that she had stepped in it.

_Dammit, Jeannie! _

"Are you sleeping with him?" He asked, abruptly, and without looking at her.

She sat quietly for a few moments, and his anxiety grew with every passing second. It shouldn't have taken her so long to answer. It wasn't a hard question, and it only warranted a yes or no.

Yes…

No…

"Of course not." Her voice was small and completely thrown off guard.

"But, you want to?"

"No." She now sounded angry. "We've been over this before! There is nothin' between us. I only want you."

"Then why did you look at him like that today… like you two had a secret." He looked her straight in the eye, and his tongue flicked against his lips. "Huh? Why?"

"I didn't. Just because I may have smiled at him, doesn't mean I'm havin' sex with him."

"Is the…" He swallowed hard before he could get out the next words. "Is the baby mine?"

It took everything within her not to pick something up and throw it at him, or march around the table and slap him so hard that it rattled his teeth. "YES! All of our children belong to you! I have not slept with anyone, but you since the first time we were together. And, I'm gettin' pretty sick of havin' to defend myself when I have done nothin' wrong."

"Okay… maybe you haven't slept together, but something has happened. I can tell."

"And how is that?"

He glanced at her nervously, and decided that after all of these years, this was the time to tell her about the girl in the bar. "I kissed a girl once."

She stared at him blankly, then her face crumbled, not in pain, but rather in confusion. Jack was no capable of that kind of betrayal. "When?"

"The worst night that it could've happened… the night your dad died… the night Patrick died. I was drunk, and she was there. We kissed..."

"D-did," Her voice cracked. "Did you sleep with her?"

"I thought about it, but no… I couldn't do that to you."

"How noble. My hero."

"I felt so guilty about your father, and then I almost killed your mother. I made a mistake…God help me… it was a mistake!" How had this become about him?

"Oh, you poor thing. So, let's get this straight… you missed your son's birth because you were busy gettin' drunk, and kissin' a girl in a bar. Frankie had to be the one next to my bed, holdin' my hand while the doctor told me that they would be takin' my baby out. You missed your only opportunity to look at our son before he was in a box because you… pitiful you, were drownin' your sorrows…that you caused, by the way… in a glass of whiskey and a slut. What a guy!"

"I didn't kno-"

"Vince kissed me." She decided to lay it all out on the table. She then crossed her arms and looked at him with a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it expression. "He came over to the house one afternoon, you hadn't been home in a long time, and I was lonely and sad. He talked about us leavin' together. He put his hands on me, then he kissed me."

The sudden change of direction startled Jack, but as he thought about what she had just confessed, he realized that it was the leaving together that bothered him the most. "Where were you going to go?"

She looked at him as if he'd sprouted another head. "I don't know."

"Did you think I would have just let you take my children?"

"I don't know."

"He touched you?"

"Yes.

"Where?"

"Where do you think?" Did she really have to go through this step for step?

"Then he kissed you?"

"Yes"

He sucked his cheeks in between his teeth then rose to his feet and began to prowl around the kitchen. "You're a whore."

She stood so quickly that it knocked over her chair. "How dare you call me that. I am your wife. I am the mother of your children. I am not a whore! I didn't kiss him back! I stopped him! I am sure you had your hands all over your bar-trash, too! Why is that okay?"

"It's not!" He shouted. "But, it was eleven years ago."

"So it's different because we hadn't been married long? I didn't realize that a marriage had to season, before its vowels carried any weight."

"It's different because, that was some tramp that I would never see again. Hell, I don't even remember her name. But, Vince… Vince was my boss at Ace. He is our neighbor. We see him all the time. You invited his wife over for coffee. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is to me?"

She stood in front of him with her hands atop her hips, and her foot tapping so quickly that it could have split a tile in the floor. "I'm sorry that I have been such a humiliation to you. It must be very hard bein' married to me. First, you find out your wife is crazy… and now she is a floozy who kisses the neighbors."

"That's not what I meant."

"Of course it's not… you never say what you mean, or mean what you say. Maybe that is why I am attracted to Vince… because he says what he means! He doesn't talk in circles like you do…talk, talk, talk, talk, yet say nothin' at all. And, out of all the _nothin'_ that you say… you mean none of it!"

"So you are attracted to him, then?"

She then started to laugh… little half breathed laughs mixed with huge, howling laughs. Laughter that made her bend forward and backwards, and left her bracing herself against the counter. Finally, it died enough to allow her the attempt to speak. "That's what you are worried about? If I am attracted to him? Why are you so dense, Jack? Hasn't that been obvious? Haven't I thrown that in your face enough? Didn't you think I would become attracted to a man who paid attention to us? You moved us out to this goddamned suburb, where we were supposed to be happy, and bleached out, and care about stupid things like stop signs and noise pollution… then you left us. You left us… left us to get numb and drunk inside a sleazy bar."

"It's the only way I could deal with you."

"Yes… because that's what it always comes back to right? You?"

"No, Jeannie! Are you serious? It always comes back to YOU, and to what you want and need. I get left behind by you! The kids get left behind by you! We came to this goddamned suburb because of you! You are the only thing that matters. And now YOU are attracted to, Vince. What is so attractive about him, anyway?"

"Don't you see? He is everything that you aren't! He is witty. He is home with his family! He has a normal job. And… and he makes me laugh. And, it's not the fake laughter that I have to force myself to do with you. But, actual happy laughter. That's why I find him terribly attractive. Because, I am happy when I am with him. You left me here with a man that would make me happy. What did you expect?"

Jack had been eviscerated. He couldn't move or think, and there was no air left in the room. The only thing he could do was lash out. "I expected you to act like my wife and the mother of my children. To keep your legs closed. But, the fact that you can't, shouldn't be a surprise. Your mother was a whore… _and you're just like her!"_

Now, Jeannie was the one standing there with her innards falling out all over the floor. He had never said anything so hurtful to her in her life. She wanted to slap him, or punch him, or kick him, or stab him. But, just as her husband had pulled out the lowest blow he could, she too decided to disintegrate into a child and hit below the belt. "Well you would be the one to pick out similarities between parents and their kids, wouldn't you?. Since you're a drunk, who leaves his children… _just like your father._" Then she decided to put the cherry on top with the phrase that she knew he hated. "Like father, like son."

It was the second time he had heard that in one day… and it was just too much. Again, he wanted to punch her right in her smug face, just like the night he redirected his fist from her jaw to the refrigerator. But, instead, this time he picked up a chair from the kitchen table and launched it into the door, knocking a hole in the door and breaking two legs from the chair.

They both stood staring at each other. His shoulders heaving up and down, as they hunched around his ears. His hands drawn into claws, and his brow in angry wrinkles. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she had a completely unintimidated, unimpressed, and uninterested countenance across her face. Most of the things she had said to him were untrue. She didn't find Vince that attractive. She flirted with him because he paid attention to her, and he resembled Jack. It felt like getting attention from her husband. Vince wasn't all that funny, and she certainly didn't have to force herself to laugh at Jack's jokes. And, she was happy with Jack. She loved Jack…warts and all. But, instead of saying that and apologizing, and kissing him, and begging his forgiveness for kissing Vince, and forgiving him for kissing the girl in the bar, she pursed her lips, then said, "Well…I think we need a new chair. I'm goin' to bed now. Good night, Jack. Feel free to sleep on the couch tonight."

Before she was even out of the room, he was on his way to his garage. He slammed through the side door, and searched around in a box, where he kept a bottle of whiskey hidden. He knocked it back and gulped a third of it down in one blow. He picked up a hammer and threw it in no particular direction. Then, he flipped on all the lights, and shoved open the garage door, and stood boldly for all the neighborhood to see. He seemed to be daring anyone to tread upon his turf.

And, just as if the fates, had smiled down upon him and felt just as enraged as he was, he saw a form bobbing up and down as it walked across the cul-de-sac. A wicked smile tugged at his lips, as he brought the bottle back to his mouth and took another swig before placing it on the hood of his car. It was Vince Carpenetti….boy did that guy have some good timing.

"Hey, Napier," Vince said nonchalantly as he made it half way up the driveway. "You thought any more about what we talked about earlier."

"Now, I'm not the smartest guy on earth, but I'm pretty sure it's not Wednesday." Jack said, doing his best not to lunge at Vince and rip his throat out.

"You're right… just noticed you out here, and thought you might have some thoughts."

"Oh," he laughed, "you don't want to know my thoughts. You want to rub my face in it." Jack then began to saunter in Vince's direction, casually rubbing his chin. "So, do you just stake out my house, Vince? Trying to keep tabs on me? My wife?"

"What?"

"Does Elizabeth know about you and Jeannie? Did you tell her about wanting to run away together?"

Vince stopped dead in his tracks, squared his shoulders, then started again. "That is not what this is about."

"Has this been your plan all along? Force me into this robbery so you can get rich, turn me in to the police anyway, then play house with my family?" Jack's hands transformed to shaking fists. "Oh, you would start off as a concerned neighbor, then eventually you would be fucking MY wife in MY bed, in MY house, and playing daddy to MY kids… living MY life."

Vince stayed quiet. His neighbor was becoming unhinged in front him. The smile that showed up on his face when he first saw Vince, hadn't dropped, but instead fortified and gave no hint to if Jack were about to laugh, or cry, or erupt into violence. He no longer seemed like a guy who was simply being territorial over his family, but instead a madman, on the verge of a breakdown, or a breakthrough.

"The answer is NO! You're not getting a goddamned penny of MY money!" Jack spat out.

Vince folded his lips inward and nodded slowly. "Fine, Napier. You deal with the fallout of your family rotting in a slum apartment. Mine will be just fine. And, just so you know… she wanted it too. I could make her happy. I am a better man than you, Jack. Better for her, and better for your children." He then turned away and looked at his own home

Jeannie's words began to echo in Jack's subconscious. "…_and he makes me laugh. And, it's not the fake laughter that I have to force myself to do with you. But, actual happy laughter."_

"Hey, Vince!" Jack said, as he walked to his toolbox, and started to riffle through the various tools inside. "You ever find that wrench you were looking for?"

"What?" Vince spat out incredulously, and turned just in time to have a huge, heavy wrench slam into his face, breaking his nose and sending him tumbling to the floor with a thud.

"Now, I know this one is a _little _bigger than what you were looking for, but you said, if I found something that I thought might work, to _let you have it…_" Jack then sent another blow of the metallic tool flying into Vince's face. He then held up the wrench, looked at it as he flipped it around in his hand, and laughed. "…and I think this one will do the job, perfectly." He then looked around quickly; making sure no one had witnessed what he had done, then grabbed Vince by his legs and pulled him fully into the garage, before closing the door...

... and closing out all interruptions...

Jack was going to have some fun.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! You guys are awesome! All of you reviewers are fantastic as well! I always thank the singed reviewers through PM, but a big thank you to all of the unsigned reviewers as well: ammie d, Anonymous Rex, Han, and Guest- I think that's all of you. Your encouragement means the world to me, and most certainly keeps me going! This story would have died on the vine a long time ago if it weren't for you guys!<strong>

**Take care until next time!**


	21. Chapter 20

**Hello all! Sorry for the delay in updating! Thank you again as always for reading!**

**Anonymous Rex- Thank you as always for your review! Jack and Jeannie are both going down that slide of madness at full speed!**

**Guest- I am so glad that you are enjoying, and thank you so much for reviewing. I know at first it was a little confusing, but it took me some time to figure out how to streamline the two stories.**

**Me- Thanks so much for your kind words! I am very flattered! You are the only person to catch that little animated series reference! I was worried that nobody would.**

**And, even though I have thanked you both in PM's, thanks again to EthanFlux and can'thinkofasuitableusername, for your kind reviews! And thank you, EthanFlux for helping with this chapter!**

**Note: This chapter is rated M for some adult content.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 20-<strong>

She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting on the foot of the bed. Could have been minutes…

Hours…

Her eyes were wide, round, unblinking, and fixed on a small speck of the wall where the paint was beginning to chip. The first mar of imperfection on the dwelling, itself. She was transfixed on how symbolic that little flake of paint was to the entire family. Just like the Napiers, the house had started as an idea. It was a long shot, but somehow it became a reality. Just like the family, its beginnings of life were sparse planks of wood… a skeleton. Bare-boned and gaunt. But, after much hard labor, walls were put up, and a structure was formed. Fresh coats of paint and window dressings, made it seem more like a home who held a perfect family. But, like Jack and Jeannie, as soon as the house was becoming lived in and comfortable, it started to fall apart

An itty, bitty imperfection that held a lot of meaning.

But, again, just like the Napier family, the imperfection was on the inside. If anyone were to be standing on the curb, at that very moment, looking up at the house and scrutinizing the family within, it all would have looked so unadulterated.

The veneers were still intact.

Superior…

Flawless…

No ugly, hateful red scars across her wrists.

No sour taste of another's lips against their own.

She remembered the first time she ever saw Crown Point Estates. Jack had been invited to his boss, at Ace Chemical's, house for dinner. Jeannie didn't know much about the man back then. Only that Jack called him Carp. She couldn't have fathomed then, that one day he would cause so much trouble in their life. Shake it to its core.

The first thing that struck her about the suburb, which laid forty-five minutes North-West of Gotham was how clean the air smelled. It was an earthy aroma laced with flowers and charcoal from backyard barbeques. A smell that she thought was saved only for imaginary places painted in pictures of Americana. The lawns were well kept, and she imagined that never was a weed allowed to grow. There were happy kids riding bikes on the sidewalk and playing tag in their yards. She could just see the happy families inside each pretty home, eating dinner, and laughing about their days.

It was all so idyllic.

Then they pulled onto Vicksburg Street. Sullivan immediately pressed his face against the window as he noticed how different this place was from the one they called home. There were no homeless beggars on the street corners or women that would make his mother slap a hand over his eyes as they passed.

"Mom, Dad? Where are the police cars?" he asked, in a truly curious voice.

"There aren't any police here." Jack answered before Jeannie could even part her lips.

"Then, who keeps them safe?" Sullivan asked, with a heartbreaking amount of concern. There was no reason for a six year old boy to worry about safety.

Jeannie's brow knit together as she contemplated just how to answer her son's question. Never in her life as a mother had she felt like such a simple question deserved such a complicated reply. "Well, Sully, I suppose they don't need them."

"Nothing bad happens on this street?"

Jeannie's eyes cut to Jack just as his mouth erupted into a mile-wide, amused smile, and he said, "No, son, nothing bad happens on this street."

It was the sound of Heather's door opening, and then her tiny feet sprinting to Sullivan's room before crashing inside, that shook Jeannie back to the present. It was not an unfamiliar sound. Heather and Sullivan had been doing this since they moved to Crown Pointe. Whenever there was a fight that broke out between their parents, one of them would evacuate to the other's room to hide under the covers and discuss where they would go when they finally decided to run away and leave their dysfunctional family behind_. _

_What about Granny Adele's house, Sully? Nobody has lived there since she died. It's so big that when they try to find us we can just hide. Then we could be happy…me…you…and Maggie._

_You're nuts, Heather. Do you know how much trouble we would be in? _

_Stop bein' a baby! And, maybe I am nuts, but I ain't sittin' around here until they kill each other._

Poor kids; for weeks they had been able to sleep soundly without worrying about their parents ripping the house down around them. Being torn from their home in Gotham, to this new house, that was supposed to be so wonderful, was a hard adjustment that was compounded by slamming doors, breaking glass, screaming adults, and a father who was more of a house guest than part of the family.

Jeannie wondered for a moment what had caused Heather to just then react to the fight. Had she sat in her own bed, all alone so long that she couldn't take it anymore? Did she sense her brother's fear? What was it?

Then she heard it.

_Thump…_

The sound of Jack lumbering up the staircase.

_Thump…_

_Thump…_

_Thump…_

He was doing nothing to keep quiet, and it seemed as if he were taking each stair one at a time. Deliberately. Almost, as if he had to think about his next step. Was he drunk? Probably. And, probably looking for a fight. No wonder he had sent Heather running in fear to her brother's room. Jeannie wasn't sure what to do. Sit there and act coy. Stand and ready herself for the coming battle. Perhaps, hide beneath the covers, too.

_Thump…_

Anyway she chose, she needed to be making her mind up fast. He had made his way to the second floor landing, and within in seconds would be face to face with her. She stood quickly and began to twist her fingers at her waist. There was an ache forming in the pit of her stomach. It was a feeling she knew too well. One that always came over her before the bottom was about to fall out.

For a moment she thought of locking the door, but he would probably just knock it down. But, then again, it would slow him down, and make him think. Force him to give some thought to his actions before he did anything unfixable. She resolved herself to make a dash for the door, but just as her heels came off the wooden floor, and she started to move, the door slammed open with such force that it bounced against the wall, and imbedded the doorknob into the sheetrock.

At first, she couldn't really see him. He was more of a mass, than anything else. A big, black frame, whose body was so seized up with anger and hatred that it had no definite form. Only a rage that she had never seen before.

And, for the slightest moment, she was sure that he was going to kill her.

If she were anyone else, he probably would have, too. He was so full of anger and abhorrence that he could have crushed her to bits. Watched her bleed, and enjoyed it. But, seeing her there, curling inward on herself in fear and dressed in only a flimsy, pathetic white nightgown, stopped him in his tracks.

For several seconds, they both stood unmoving, staring at the other. She wasn't sure if she should try to speak, or wait for his cue… something within her told her that no sudden movements would be the best bet. Finally, he took a step towards her, and she took a step back. She wanted as much space between them as possible. She hadn't seen this deep, dark version of her husband in a long time. Not since he almost killed her mother. She knew that her next move would be the most important decision she had ever made. Her life depended upon it.

"Jack." Her voice was small and wispy. "Jack, please."

He didn't say anything in response, only took in a large, gasping breath, like his lungs had been void of air, and her voice was what reminded him to breathe. His head shook ever so slightly and his knees began to wobble. For a split second, she thought that he may pass out, but he steadied himself, and his eyes cast to the floor in an odd show of what could only be described as embarrassment.

Her eyes began to adjust, and his silhouette became more finite. She couldn't place it at first, but there was something dark smattered across the right side of his shirt. Something that looked filthy and sticky. "What is that, Jack? It's all over you."

He looked up to her, and then took a step back into a shadow. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Again, he took a moment to collect himself, then he cleared his throat, then turned and stomped towards the bathroom. "It's just oil. I need to get it off of me. Stay here."

It was a lie. She knew it. And, just as he was closing the bathroom door behind him, she slipped her slim body inside, stared down at the floor, and flipped on the light.

"Goddammit, Jeannie! Don't you ever obey?!" He sounded like he could have slammed her through the wall.

Suddenly a thought popped into Jeannie's head. A very panicked, shrill thought that screamed at her not to look up. To turn around and leave the room before anything bad could happen.

But, "_Nothing bad happens on this street."_

Maybe it was intuition?

Maybe the voice of God?

Either way, she didn't listen.

Her eyes started as his feet and worked their way up. As she reached his shirt, she was met with the horror, that the dark stain was in fact red, and viscous, and drying in heavy spattered patterns. Then she moved to his face, where she found the same substance smattered across his skin. There was a large blotch of it across his right cheek that speckled off to the left, with a few dried ominous trails traveling down his neck.

And then it hit her. Oh, God, it was blood.

And, lots of it, too.

She instinctively began to pat her hands over his body, looking for some gaping wound that was surely going to kill her husband if she didn't cover it. "Jack! Jack! What happened to you? Are you hurt? I can't find where this is all comin' from."

His body swayed limply with every pass of her hand. "Jeannie. Stop. Please, stop."

"No. This is bad. This is enough blood to kill you."

Then, as she felt the clots of blood adhering to her hands, and leaving them a detestable crimson, she realized that this blood was not his. She took a step back and turned her palms up and brought them close to her face in an attempt to convince herself that her eyes were just playing tricks on her. There was no way she was seeing what was before her.

"Oh, no! Jack, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything."

She looked up to see the most defiant, incorrigible expression cemented onto his face. One that said, "I say so, so it is." In his resoluteness, she found the oddest, most incongruent feeling coming over her. She knew that she should have been feeling horror…disgust. She should have run away screaming. She should be making plans to collect her children and leave her murdering husband behind. But, instead she felt… flattered.

And, absurdly proud.

For the first time in his life, Jack had done something to correct the wrong in his life. He finally stood up for himself. All of his life, he had just rolled with the punches. He never defended himself against his father. Against Sal Valestra. Against her. He just took it. He took whatever injustice the world handed to him, and then asked for a second helping. But, this time he took a stand. A stand for himself and what was his.

He was a different man.

Her hands dropped to his chest and she pressed against him. Then she looked up to him through batting eyelashes, and gave him a sweet, almost grateful grin. "For me? You shouldn't have."

Her flirtation was startling to him. It was the last thing he expected, and suddenly he felt like an animal. Carnal and feral. She was his. He had asserted that to his aggressor, who had conspired to take her from him. And, now it was time to show her.

He placed his hands upon her arms, then allowed his left to travel up and over her shoulder, across her chest and then his long fingers wrapped around her neck. All it would have taken was a little pressure to her skinny spine to snap her in two. He knew it, and she knew it. His eyes narrowed in a way that let her know, that _her_ husband wasn't completely there. His inner demon was fighting for control, and could take over at any moment. His hand then snaked around and made a tight fist in the hair at the nap of her neck, then pulled her into a deep, wrathful kiss that tasted metallic, like blood.

Again, she knew she should have fought him, but there was something in his primal behavior, that was arousing and made her feel helpless. She knew that she was at his mercy, and she liked it. Since the moment his green eyes met her blue in the Gotham Plaza Hotel, she had been in total control. Yes, she liked to let him think that his opinions held some weight, but they both knew that they didn't. She had long ago, figured out a way to make him think that things she wanted were his ideas. He followed her around like a puppy. She was the dominant. The master.

But, not now. Now, he was the one with the power.

His right hand slipped the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders and left her standing naked in front of him. He pulled his lips from hers, picked her up with on hand, and deposited her in the shower. He then stood, staring at her, with his arms crossed, his head tilted to the side, and a mixture of a sneer and a smile fighting at his lips.

For a moment, she felt extremely self-conscious. Although, this man had been looking at her bare flesh for years, she felt like she was naked in front of a stranger. She nervously bit her lip, then straightened her arms in such a way that all of the intimate parts of her body were partially covered. She watched his eyes slide over her, not like a man filled with want, but rather like he was appraising her. Deciding if she was something worth his time. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she found her voice again. "Aren't you goin' to get in with me?"

He didn't speak as his smile extended, but didn't quite meet his eyes. It was as if it took him considerable effort to turn on the water, then take his own blood sodden clothing off. Almost, like he knew that sex could make the Jack Napier part of him lose control. That he might hurt his pregnant wife in a moment of cloudy lust.

He stepped inside with her and pulled the shower door shut, behind him. Their eyes never left, as he made the wary decision to proceed. She was his. His, damn it! Yes, killing another human being was not something that Jack was unfamiliar with, but this was different. He was hired to carry out hits; he was obligated to kill the enemy in war. But, this was the first time that he had made the conscious choice to end another's life. And, it was her fault. She had forced him to do it. It was terrible to be so cuckolded, and it was high time that she realized that putting her mouth on another man was unacceptable and would not be tolerated.

He ran his hand over her now wet hair, and put his forehead against hers. His focus shifted down to his feet where the water was mixing with blood and draining away in little pink swirls. Then his gaze met hers, and he stared into her anticipatory eyes. For a moment, he felt like backing away and not risking it. But,then he wondered what her eyes must have looked like when Vince was this close to her. Did she look scared? Confused? Wanton? Or maybe, just as she looked now. With eagerness for what was about to come next. He placed the softest, most tender kiss that she had ever felt against the bridge of her nose, then again pushed her wet hair from her face. "I'm sorry, Jeannie."

She looked at him in confusion. "For, wha-." Before she could finish he had slammed her body against the wall, and pinned her there with his own. His mouth moved over her skin with greed, like he was claiming territory, and occasionally she would feel his teeth graze across the most sensitive parts of her body. His hands were rough and controlling. There was nothing loving or desirable about his touch. Her eyes glazed over as she felt him push his way inside of her. This was not the man that she had been married to for over a decade. The man who for the first six years of their marriage would ask her, "was that okay?" after each time they made love. Even in their most wrathful of moments, he was never like this. Now, he felt cruel and uncaring. Like a monster.

Her eyes watered and she clamped them shut as he thrust himself inside of her faster and faster. Harder and harder. For the first time in her life, her only desire was for it to be over. Just as she felt like she wouldn't be able to take it for another moment, his lips parted and he let out a familiar groan that signaled that he was reaching his end. She breathed a sigh of relief when his face contorted, but soon was met with the feeling of him balling his fists in her hair and pulling it so hard that she felt that it might snap at the roots.

"You are my wife! MINE! You got that?" he growled into her ear.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Say it!"

"Jack, stop."

"Say it, goddammit."

"I'm yours."

With that he let out a guttural cry of pleasure and pain, then stood holding her against the wall as his body twitched and he caught his breath. After several moments filled with loathing pulsing between them and his head lying lazily upon her shoulder, he let go of her with no warning. Had she not been quick enough to get her footing beneath her as he let go, she would have gone tumbling to the floor.

He turned from her immediately and walked to the opposite wall where he placed his hands flat against the hard surface, then hung his head as he was covered with hot streams of water. "Get out."

"No." She wanted so badly to slap him. How dare he treat her like she was a piece of meat; a means to an end. How dare he tell her to "get out", after he had been so rough with her. She started as a willing participant, but things had just spiraled out of control. She was disgusted with him… and with herself. What was wrong with her that she found the image of her husband covered in the blood of an innocent man, stirring and enticing? They were both fucked up individuals who just intensified the other. "I'm not going to get out. What happened?"

"Jeannie." His voice was raw and pleading. "Just get out and leave me alone."

She moved closer to him and placed her hand in the middle of his back, only causing his entire body to go stiff. For a moment she felt sympathy for him. They had been in this scene before. This shower was the first place that they had been intimate together after she had tried to kill herself. He was soft, and gentle, and almost too loving to her that day. Afterwards, she was the one sulking as he stood in this same pose, sniffling and crying like a child_. I thought I'd lost you, Jeannie. I thought I would never see you again. Why would you do that to yourself? Have I not loved you enough? _

"You are not okay, right now. I'm not leaving." She was still angry and bitter, but he was not himself. Not her Jack.

"Please." He turned just enough for her to see that he looked racked with grief, and guilt, and fear. Fear that he was going to hurt her. "If you have ever loved me at all…you will stop talking and get out."

Her hand dropped to her side and she backed away. Without any words, she stepped outside, grabbed a towel, and left him on his own. As she walked into their bedroom she immediately began to sob so hard that she felt like she may collapse. She didn't even have the wherewithal to dress before she climbed into bed, hid under the covers, and pulled his pillow against her face and breathed in the scent of her lost husband. She felt sick and tarnished, and so very isolated. Where was the man that she knew so well? The man who would come to bed every night and pull her close to him, then talk to her for sometimes hours about his day, or his plans for their family. The man who knew just what smile to give her to make everything alright. The man who's spirit was richer than most.

He was gone.

After what seemed like hours, he finally emerged. He stood in the doorway for a long while and tried to discern if she was sleeping, or simply not talking to him. There was no way he was going to actually have the audacity to attempt to get in the bed with her. Finally, after relenting to the mess he had made, he swallowed hard, blinked a few times in the darkness, dressed, then disappeared from the room to take his place on the couch.

And, this is how they would remain for the next three days. Not speaking, and avoiding the other. In front of the children, they acted a bit warmer, but it was obvious that the tension was not lost on their offspring. Heather had gone from boisterous, to quiet and nervous. Sitting by herself and chewing on the ends of her hair. Sullivan would spend hours sitting on the swing set, staring up at the trees with cloudy eyes. Maggie had gone from happy baby to constantly crying and fussing. Jack avoided his parental guilt by going back to his old standby of leaving early and coming home late. Jeannie holed herself up in the house and shut out the outside world. She wiggled out of her Tuesday morning breakfast date with Jane Willis by feigning morning sickness. None of the Napiers were coping well.

Finally, early Wednesday morning, Jack had all he could take, and decided to work up the courage to speak to his wife. He found her in the kitchen, leaning across the sink and looking out into the grey morning. The house was completely silent, with all three children still sleeping. A rarity. He stood several feet behind her, watching the muscles around her spine tense as she sensed his presence. She looked back to him slightly, pursed her lips in agitation, then looked back into fog.

"Is it always going to be like this, Jeannie?" he asked.

She was silent for a long while as she began to drum her fingers against the counter top. "I don't know. I haven't made up my mind yet. My thoughts have been a little fuzzy lately. Maybe it's all of the rough sex I have been having?"

His shoulders slumped in exasperation, and he took a step closer to her. "I'm so sorry, baby. I don't know what came over me."

She turned around so quickly that it caused him to jump backwards in surprise. "What did you do to Vince? That's the bigger question."

Jack's nose curled in disgust. "I didn't do anything. As far as I know, Vince is over in his house getting ready for work."

She rolled her eyes, and the corners of her lips curled downward in hostility. "Then where did all of that blood come from?"

His jaws clenched tightly and he straightened his spine. Maybe if he appeared taller, then he would look more credible. "It wasn't blood…it was oil… I have told you it was oil. I don't know why I have to constantly repeat myself."

"Jesus Christ, Jack. You must think I am a complete idiot."

He shook his head then looked down at his feet. "Think what you want. I know whatever I say won't matter."

"No, it doesn't. Not when it is bullshit."

Before he could reply there was light rapping at their kitchen door that caused them both to turn their heads sharply. "_Shit!" _They both thought simultaneously, as they saw the bulbous figure of Elizabeth Carpenetti, standing just opposite of the window cut in the door. Jeannie gave Jack a tight glower, then wiped her palms across her dress, as if she were still feeling the gluey texture of drying blood upon them, as she walked to the kitchen door.

She squared her shoulders and conjured up her most welcoming smile as she reached for the knob. "Good mornin', Elizabeth. What are you doin' here so early?"

Elizabeth Carpenetti was a nervous looking woman with a round figure, which made her always look swollen and uncomfortable. It appeared as though her skin was pulled too tightly across her body. Her face was ruddy, and her hair thin and a sad mousey-brown. She wore glasses that were ill-fitting and incredibly unbecoming. She'd always found Jeannie unbelievably intimidating. Jeannie was everything that she wasn't, but wanted to be. She was also very aware that her husband was in love with the pretty, young neighbor. Elizabeth carried around fantasies of slapping the haughty smile off of Jeannie's face whenever she looked at Vince a little too longingly. There was even one dark afternoon, in which her husband had disappeared inside the Napier house, that Elizabeth toyed with the idea of greeting Jeannie and Vince with the small pistol that was kept in the top of her closet. Of course, she wouldn't have actually used it. At least not on Vince.

"I'm sorry it's so early. I hope I'm not disturbing you." Elizabeth said kindly, as she scurried inside and looked around, her eyes landing and staying on Jack.

"No," Jeannie assured, "of course not."

"Well, I'm not really here on a social call. More to talk to you, Jack."

"Me?" He suddenly felt like the contents of his stomach were about to make a reappearance.

"Yes." Elizabeth began to wring her hands in front of her. "You see, I haven't seen Vince since Sunday night."

Jack moved his jaw from side to side then glanced to Jeannie. "I'm sorry to hear that."

An instinctual, polite smile briefly showed on Elizabeth's face that made her appear marginally attractive, before she turned it to an unpleasant pucker. "Yes, it's very odd. He was at home Sunday night when I went to bed, but the next morning he was gone. I would have thought that he just went to work early, but his car was still in the garage." She then shook her head and threw her hand up in an apologetic way. "I'm sorry… I know that doesn't matter to you. It's just that, I know that you and Vince are friends, Jack. Has he said anything to you? Anything strange?"

Jack's face blanched, and he anxiously pulled at his tie. "No. Nothing that comes to mind."

Elizabeth began to nod at a rapid pace. "Okay… okay then. Well, while you are in the city today, could you keep an eye out for him? Tell him to at least let me know where he is…. if you see him, y'know."

A sudden sharp pain hit Jack on his left side. The same pain he had felt before his last phone call with Molly. He cleared his throat to mask the grunt of discomfort, then pressed his fist into his side in an attempt to blunt the pain. "Of course, Elizabeth. I doubt I will run into him, but if I do, I will be sure to relay the message."

"You okay, Jack?" Jeannie asked with the first bit of concern she had shown him in days.

He nodded then licked his lips as he tried to force a smile. "Yeah…yeah, I'm fine."

Elizabeth looked back and forth between Jack and Jeannie, then bounced slightly on her toes. "Well, then. I won't take up anymore of you folks' morning. Thank you, Jack."

Jack only acknowledged with a nod as he felt a cold sweat of agony begin to puddle on his brow.

"I hope you hear from him soon." Jeannie said, with her voice struggling to hide her remorse, as she opened the door for Elizabeth, and a housefly buzzed its way in.

Elizabeth gave her a flat lipped, forced smile. "Yes, I'm sure you do." With that, she exited, closing the door with a bit too much force behind her.

Jeannie suddenly felt sick, and she turned, allowing her back to slump against door. "Oh, God, Jack… this is so wrong. That poor woman. Those kids…"

Jack sighed then ran his fingers through his hair. "Stop… it has nothing to do with us. Nothing. So just stop thinking about it."

Jeannie wrapped her arms around her waist, and a raspy ghost of a sob came from her lips. "I can't. How am I supposed to not think about it? You… you…kil-"

"No!" he interrupted. "I didn't."

"How can you deny it, Jack? You can't turn horseshit into diamonds, just by sayin' it. Somethin' didn't happen just because you say it didn't"

"Let it go, Jeannie. I'm not talking about it anymore." His mouth pulled into an impassable line that closed the subject. "I'm going to be late tonight. Just so you know."

"Surprise. Surprise."

"I have to, Jeannie. Sal has a meeting, and I have to be there."

"Of course you do."

He ran his hand once again over his sore side, then let out a sigh of disgust. "Have a good day. Tell the kids that I love them." He then turned on his heels, grabbed his suit jacket and hat at the front door, then left his picture-perfect home, for the squalor of the city.

* * *

><p>"I… I need to talk with Mr. Valestra." A tiny, pimply chinned boy, with blonde hair said, as he swayed on his toes in front of Jack and Frankie.<p>

Jack stood with his arms crossed and his left shoulder propped against a lamp post. He listened for a moment, then stood straight and adjusted the hat atop his head "That's not how it works, kid. Mr. Valestra doesn't talk to maggots like you. You got something to say, you need to say it to me. Everything goes through me."

The boy sucked his cheeks in and turned a sickly green. "Well, Mr. Napier, my girlfriend is pregnant. Her mother is kicking her out, and we don't got no place to stay. I don't got no money. None. I need a job. I'm willing to do anything. ANYTHING!" His eyes widened to magnify his desperation.

"Believe me, kid. That is the last thing you want to say."

"I have real money troubles, though."

"Don't we all." Jack took a step closer to the boy in an attempt to intimidate. "Anyway, our corporation isn't hiring right now. Filled to capacity. Hit the bricks, kid."

"But…"

Jack shoved him backwards with a heavy hand, then pushed his suit jacket back at the hip, just enough to reveal the pistol hanging from his side. "Get outta here. Don't make me tell ya again."

At the sight of the pistol the boys eyes became panicked, and his feet made a squeaky dragging noise as he scampered backwards. "Thanks for your time." He then began to jog off in the other direction, occasionally looking back over his shoulder to make sure he was not being followed.

Jack watched him out of the corner of his eye then let out a snorting chuckle, before patting his hands up and down his body until he located a cigarette. "The next generation, huh, Frankie?" Jack said sticking the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. "That's what we are up against. You and I are getting old. Soft around the gut and long in the tooth. Won't be long before we are sent out to pasture, and Sal will be hiring kids like that. God help us."

"We were kids like that once." Frankie reminded in a grave tone.

Jack took a quick glance at his friend, then exhaled a large cloud of smoke. "What's eating you? You've been quiet all night. I've never known Frank Boles to be one without something to say."

Frankie gave a little shrug, then kicked at a chip in the dirty sidewalk. "Ah, it's nothing." He then adjusted his tie, and took a long sprawling look up and down the city streets. The only thing in his view was the red glow of taillights waiting, not so patiently, for the traffic light to change. There were a few police lights out in the distance, but nothing close enough to worry about. He and Jack were open targets, standing outside a restaurant known for its organized crime connections. They could easily be picked up by the cops, or taken down by a rival gang. It made nervous beads of sweat begin to drip down the back of Frankie's neck. Something was bothering him. Something big, and something that was going to eat him alive unless he got it out. He had to tell Jack. He didn't want to, but Jack was his closest friend. He had to tell him.

"Hey, look man, it's not nothing, okay?" Frankie's teeth began to chatter. "It's actually kinda big."

Jack gave Frankie an odd, cynical expression. "What? You finally knock up Tonya?"

"No…no… nothing like that." Frankie then outstretched his hand. "Give me your gun. I don't want you to shoot me."

Jack's eyebrows shot up and he took a step back. "Why would I shoot you? What's the problem, Frankie? Spit it out."

Frankie closed his hand, and slid his fingers up his sweaty palms\ a few times before dropping it back to his side. "This meeting is about you."

"About me? What about me?"

"Firming up their plans for you." Frankie swallowed hard, then began to chew on the inside of his cheek as he carefully formed his next words. "Sal called me into his office last week. He had some questions. Questions about you."

Every sinew in Jack's body became rigid. "You didn't? Please, tell me you didn't! Goddammit…"

"I'm sorry. He wanted to know how you afforded that house, and I…I stuck to the story. I told him you inherited the money. And, I thought he was satisfied with that answer, but as I was leaving he stopped me and said, 'Frankie, your ex-wife and kids live upstate, right? 422 Bakers Street? White house? I bet you miss them, don't you? You'd miss them a lot more if they were dead.' I had to tell him, Jack"

"So, you sold me out? Offered my kids up like sacrifices? Hell, this whole Red Hood gig started with you in the first place. My gut told me it was a bad idea then. I should've listened." Part of him wanted to laugh, another part wanted to cry. His insides were churning so violently that the only thing he could manage to do was bend forward and put his hands on his knees as he tried to wrap his mind around what this meant. Sal would be humiliated that Jack's "side job", had gone unnoticed for so long... and humiliating the boss was never a good thing. Especially when your boss is Salvator Valestra.

"What would you have done if he threatened your family? You would have done the same thing, and don't give me some sanctimonious bullshit about how you wouldn't have."

Jack stayed silent as a pain as sharp as a white hot poker began to seer at his left side forcing him to stand upright. Frankie was right. Jack would have sold out the Bole's family to save his own. He would have probably carried the hit out, himself. There was no point in arguing that fact.

"You need to get out of this city, Jack. It doesn't matter where. Just far away. Do the Red Hood job on Friday night, get the money, and leave. From what I hear, whatever they plan for you will be happening this weekend. Sal is going to send you on some phony job, then while you are gone…" Frankie stopped and looked Jack dead in the eye. "…while you are gone…They are going to go into your home and restrain Jeannie and the kids. When you get home they will be waiting for you. Kill your family in front of ya…then you…you're going to be an example to kids like that one you just sent running for the hills. Word of advice, get out of this city."

Even though Jack was so angry, he could have peeled the flesh from Frankie's bones, after his night with Vince and being at war with Jeannie, he didn't have it in him to fight. He was suddenly lost and broken. He had never felt so betrayed in his life, yet he knew that Frankie was taking a considerable risk by even giving him a heads up. He simply let his cigarette fall to the ground and again rested his body against the lamp post. The incongruence between his reaction to Vince's threat, and Frankie's was glaringly obvious to him. The difference was, he liked Frankie… and he had known him for years. He was like family. Frankie had been there through the good times and the bad. He was the first visitor to see each of the Napier children. The kids called him Uncle Frankie. He was Jeannie's roundabout way of getting messages to her husband. He and Jack were partners. Brothers.

And, it was all over now.

"This is going to be real hard on the kids… leaving, y'know. They were just getting settled into the new house. Finally calling it home." Jack said, sadly giving Frankie a sideways looks.

"You'll have plenty of money… they will call somewhere else home."

"Heather has her first ballet recital in a couple of weeks. Sully has t-ball this weekend. He was excited about that. It was going to be something we did together." Jack then clenched his jaw and looked at the pavement. "It's just going to be hard, leaving everything I've worked for behind. Everything I've struggled for."

"Your family is the most important thing. If they are safe… well, then everything else will fall into place."

Jack felt a shiver run up his spine as the weight of the world placed itself atop his shoulders… once again. "Frankie, I'm going to give _you_ a word of advice. You need to learn to keep that fat mouth of yours shut…it's going to get you in trouble one day. Not everyone is as forgiving as I am."

Jack entered his darkened home in the wee hours of the night. He realized, as he threw his hat atop of the hat-rack, that soon this place would be a shell. The neighbors would talk about the family who once lived there that left suddenly and with no explanation. The swing set that he had built for his children would go to rot. The yard that he so painstakingly kept, would become overgrown. The planks of siding would begin to crumble and the shutters would fall. Eventually it would look like his childhood home. A home that was disintegrating and served no purpose other than to house the neighborhood vermin. A home that one day his children would stand in front of, shaking their heads in disapproval and wondering what the hell happened. Just as he and Molly had, so many years ago in Summitville. For the first time since being left in his Aunt's driveway, he felt a pang of sympathy for the man who had once been his father. He must have felt pretty helpless too, as all of his hopes and dreams were washed out to sea… never to be recovered again.

Then he noticed that the house was dead silent, even the usual chirping of crickets in the front yard was quieted. And, for a moment, Jack felt a wave of panic rush over him. What if the plan had changed? What if his wife and kids were lying in their beds cold and dead?

He took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to be quiet, and rushed through his bedroom door to find Jeannie sitting up in bed and painting her toe nails. "You're home late."

He released a long held breath from between his teeth and he started to laugh in relief. "Are you okay, Jeannie? Are the kids okay?"

She screwed the top back on the nail polish and wrinkled her brow. "Of course. Why wouldn't we be?"

"Uh, nothing." This wasn't the time. The horrible conversation was inevitable, but it didn't have to happen tonight. As long as he was with them… they were safe. He quickly disposed of his clothing and crawled in bed beside her.

"Jack," she said in a tone that let him know he was not welcomed.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt an ache begin behind his right eye. "Jeannie… please. I am exhausted. Just let me sleep here. Please."

She looked down at him for a few moments then arched one eyebrow and slithered down into his embrace. "This doesn't mean you are forgiven."

"I know."

"You still want to go to my doctor appointment with me tomorrow?"

"Baby doctor?"

"Yes." She lied, but that fight could wait until morning.

"Of course, I want to go. Go to sleep. I love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>


	22. Chapter 21

**Thanks everyone for reading! A big thank you to Anonymous Rex, EthanFlux,** **can'thinkofasuitableusername, Han, and Guest for leaving reviews! You guys really keep me going!**

**Anonymous Rex- Glad you recognized that line! Thanks, as always, for the review!**

**Han- I unfortunately have to end this story. Believe me, I wish I didn't. I will miss these characters terribly. As far as a sequel… possibly, but no promises. I will just have to see what kind of response I get over the last couple of chapters. Thank you for the review!**

**Guest- They may come to a good place before we see the Joker. We will have to wait to see. Thanks for your review!**

**And, finally I want to say thank you to everyone who has favorited and alerted this story! That is very helpful as well!**

**Please enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 21-<strong>

There was very little about being a parent that surprised Jack. Or, the process of becoming a parent, for that matter. He knew that for the first twelve weeks, Jeannie would be camped out in the bathroom fighting a never ending battle against morning sickness. The smell of raw meat and vanilla scented soap would, without fail, make her violently ill. She always craved pineapple, but _never_ pineapple from a can. It had to be fresh and home chopped. She would stand at the kitchen counter with an oversized knife, cutting off little bits, stuffing them in her mouth and giving him a, "come on, I dare you to say I might be pregnant," stare. At around four months she would start to feel the baby move, and with big, excited eyes she would grab his hand and place it over her stomach, "There, do you feel that? That little bump?" Around five months she would no longer be able to hide her bulging abdomen and resign herself to wearing maternity clothes- begrudgingly. Around seven months she would start to waddle instead of walk, and two weeks before her due date she would have to sleep sitting up because she couldn't breathe if she laid flat. Then, either a few days before, or a few days after her due date, her water would break. After four pushes and a very sore hand, there would be a high pitched cry, and he and Jeannie would trade emotional glances that they saved just for the birth of their children. It had all become pretty standard practice. He knew everything to expect.

He knew to expect Dr. Peters, the Obstetrician who had delivered Heather, Sullivan, and Maggie, to give him a firm handshake and say, "Didn't think I'd be seeing you folks again, so soon." Dr. Peters would then talk through the process of an ultrasound in painful detail, as if they were first time parents, and then finally let them hear their baby's heartbeat. Ah, the heartbeat. That was Jack's favorite part, even more than finding out the gender. He truly didn't care if he had another girl or another boy… it was the thud…thud…thud… of a healthy beating heart that mattered to him. Ever since losing Patrick, he would hold his breath as Dr. Peters probed around Jeannie's bare stomach looking for that little blinking light that signified life. It was always a bitter sweet experience.

And, this day was no different. He wasn't sure if it was the left over sting from Frankie's admission to him the night before mixed with the knowledge that he would, within hours, have to break it to his family that they would be leaving the city for good, or the Red Hood job the next day, or simply the ever present worry eating at the back of his mind that reminded him that there was always the possibility that the pulsating light that meant a healthy child might not be found, but something was throwing Jack so off center that he wasn't completely aware of his surroundings. He didn't even notice that instead of exiting the elevator on the fourth floor of the Gotham General Medical Office Building, where Dr. Peters' office was located, they got off on the third. Stopping at a door with the name:

**Dr. Thomas Bartlett, M.D.**

**Family Psychiatry**

…scrolled across it in big black letters, didn't even seem to slow Jack down. Even the absence of women, so pregnant that they couldn't move, and nervous first-time fathers, biting and gnawing on the back of red knuckles, didn't faze him. What finally alerted him that something was amiss was the cheesy doctor's office wall art hanging around him. Dr. Peter's liked to capitalize on the fact that Gotham had a shoreline- ugly as it may be. He had prints of serene harbors with wooden skiff boats resting at dock and seagulls gliding in the distance, adorning his waiting room. The paintings on the walls that Jack sat between now were very different. There was one of New England country side, fall foliage, and a barn with a boy hanging his feet from the hayloft. Only then did Jack notice that the only other soul waiting with them, was a woman who was picking at her nail beds and looked to be around forty, whose face was drawn into the same pensive, overly-wound expression that Jeannie often sported.

His first thought was that maybe the uproar that the household had been in over the last few days may have caused Jeannie's memory to lapse, and possibly caused her to lead them to the wrong office. Just as, his lips turned up in an amused grin and he turned his head ever-so-slightly to Jeannie, an older lady with wiry grey hair and a blue/grey argyle sweater, opened the door leading to the exam rooms. The way her eyes bounced back and forth between he and Jeannie, told Jack that there was no mistake in their location and he had been lied to by his wife. The woman gave Jeannie a familiar, welcoming smile, then extended her veiny hand in a beckoning, waving motion. "Mr. and Mrs. Napier, Dr. Bartlett will see you now."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Was the only phrase Jack was able to get out as he sat on the opposite end, away from his wife, of a plush leather couch in what was obviously a psychiatrist's office.

To anyone on the outside listening, Jack's tone sounded sweet and concerned, but Jeannie could hear the edge traveling through his words that cautioned her of the storm that could come. Making eye contact seemed to be an impossible venture at the moment, and she kept her gaze cast down to her lap. "I didn't want to fight with you."

"That's new," Jack said, making a little snorting laugh. His eyes then traveled across the numerous diplomas hanging from the wall. Ph.D. from the University of Connecticut. MD from Gotham State University. Jack felt very impressed and very impotent at the same time.

The door swung open and Dr. Bartlett entered in a rush. He stopped short in the doorway and gave Jack a quizzical squint of his eyes. It was quite obvious that he had forgotten that Jeannie would be bringing her husband along. His memory seemed to spark as he crossed the room, straightening his tie and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in an attempt not to look so thrown off. "Jeannie," he said with an acknowledging smile, then offered his hand to Jack. "Mr. Napier… good to meet you. John, correct?"

"Yes, but Jack, please," he said, giving his best, firm handshake.

Dr. Bartlett then took out his ever present notepad and sat in the chair directly in front of Jeannie and Jack. He again repositioned his glasses, made a scribble on the paper, then looked up and gave Jack an empathetic smile. "I can tell by the look on your face that you are a little confused."

"That is a gross understatement. I thought I was going to an OB appointment."

"You didn't tell him?" Dr. Bartlett's eyes flickered to Jeannie and his tone seemed to carry disappointment.

"No."

"Why not?"

She gave Jack a sideways glance then began to smooth the wrinkles in her skirt. "I didn't want to trouble him. He's been rather preoccupied lately."

Again, another scribbled note. "Do you have any idea why your wife is here, Jack?"

"None." He did his best to keep his eyes from Jeannie. He knew that if he looked at her, the scowl on his face would be so damning, that there would be no recovering. "She mentioned marriage counseling once, but then seemed to drop the subject. I've been under the impression that she has been fine."

Dr. Bartlett's jaw shifted in a way that made Jack immediately feel threatened. "Did you think she was _fine_ in the days leading up to her last suicide attempt? Were there any implications that she was about to slit her wrists, or did she seem _fine_ to you then, too?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" It was a completely rhetorical question. Jack knew exactly what Dr. Bartlett meant. He picked up completely on the suggestion that he was unaware or uncaring of his wife's health and well-being. Absent and oblivious. Who knows what she could have been telling him. She most definitely painted herself as the victim. He knew her well enough to be certain that she would not be placing any of the responsibility or blame on herself.

"Nothing was meant by that. Don't read between the lines, just answer straight-forward." Again, with the scribbling.

"No, I didn't think she was fine. I knew something was wrong."

"Did you seek to get her help?"

"I… I didn't realize how serious it was."

Scribble...scribble... scribble...

Jack sat forward in his seat. "Do I need to be concerned for her safety now? Am I going to come home to find her hanging from the ceiling fan this time?" His words were brazen and flippant. It was not that he found the possibility of finding his wife dead something to joke about, but his nerves were shot. Between Vince, Frankie, Sal, the Red Hood, and now Jeannie… Jack was pretty sure that he was the one who needed to be sprawled across a psychiatrist's couch spilling his inner most secrets and interpreting ink blots.

"Don't jump too far ahead, Jack."

"If she's not in immediate danger, would somebody mind telling me why we are here?"

Scribble…scribble…scribble. "Jeannie would you like to pick up from here?"

"No." She had taken on an impassible posture with her arms folded across her chest and her mouth pulled into a thin line. There was no denying that she had gone on the defense and any progress when it came to her would be a struggle, if not impossible.

Dr. Bartlett looked up, sighed and again adjusted his glasses. "Jeannie has been seeing me twice a week for the last month."

Jack's brow furrowed and he shook his head. "A month? Tw-twice a week?" The words tasted acrid as they passed over his tongue. "W-why?"

Dr. Bartlett traded glances with Jeannie, then his shoulders slumped slightly. "Do you know what schizophrenia is, Jack?"

Jack's neck straightened and he let out a ragged breath. "I'm not overly familiar with it. I know that after our last child she was diagnosed with postpartum schizophrenia and depression. Our daughter is over a year old, shouldn't that have passed by now?"

Dr. Bartlett made a small, indiscernible movement of his head. "Usually postpartum schizophrenia or psychosis peeks at around three months, but there have been cases in which it reappears as late as two years after birth."

"Jesus Christ," Jack said under his breath in exasperation and slumped down in his seat.

"I don't think this is postpartum schizophrenia, though. I think that your wife's schizophrenia is an ever present disorder. Her mother suffered from it, and there is a genetic link. From what she has told me, it seems to be something that she has always suffered with. It's just become exasperated with pregnancy and subsequent child birth. Her postpartum depression has certainly heightened it."

Jack began to knead his fist into his left side, as the pain once again began to build. There was so much that he wanted to say, but his tongue couldn't seem to form the words. He felt completely crestfallen and defeated. No matter what he did for her, or how hard he struggled, he would never make her happy or whole.

"Individuals suffering with schizophrenia have a hard time discerning reality from fantasy. Sometimes they have auditory, visual, even tactile hallucinations. They don't think clearly and often have abnormal emotional responses. They are isolated and don't act well in social situations. Sometimes they have false ideations that others are trying to harm them…. Possibly ruin their lives. Does any of this sound familiar?"

Jack blew out his cheeks and gave a tiny nod. "Some of it, yes."

Scribble…scribble…scribble…"Jeannie first sought treatment from me because she was complaining of auditory hallucinations. Voices to be exact. "

Jack's face was blank as he blinked a few times in disbelief. "What? No! No, she hasn't been hearing voices. She has been the most healthy she has ever been… since I've known her, at least." His head then snapped in Jeannie's direction. "Is this true?"

She bit her bottom lip and nodded while she kept her gaze down. Her foot began to tap in its normal nervous rhythm. Tap…Tap… Tap…

Jack then turned to Dr. Bartlett. "So what does this mean? Does she need to be hospitalized again?" _Oh, God, please no. I have to get her out of this city. There isn't much time._

Dr. Bartlett shook his head and his glasses caught the light causing a glint of sun to hit Jack in the eyes. "No. I think that is an extreme step. She said that the voices stopped recently. I think with some time and some more counseling, she will be healthy again. After she has delivered this baby, I will prescribe antipsychotic medication, monitor her closely, and hopefully her symptoms will not be as severe as they were after your last child."

"Antipsychotic medication? _Antipsychotic?_" Jack sounded as if he had been punched in the gut.

"It sounds worse than it is. Don't panic."

Jack then gruffly asked Jeannie while still looking at Dr. Bartlett, "You couldn't tell me all of this at home?"

"You being here was my idea." Dr. Bartlett jumped in. "It's only in the last week that she has felt comfortable with you accompanying her to these appointments. She has come to a point in her recovery that she needs to clear the air… with you. This is a safe, healthy environment for you both to say whatever you need to say."

Jack gritted his teeth and finally turned to his wife without really looking at her. "What do you need to say, sweetheart?"

Tap…tap…tap…tap…

Jeannie's eyes began to brim with tears as they darted from Jack, to Dr. Bartlett, then back again. "I…I…" She stopped and released a heavy, terrified breath. "I don't know where to start."

"Say it to him, like you've said it to me." Scribble…scribble…scribble…

"Yes, dear, say it to me like you have to _another_ man." His words were unmistakably taking a shot at her about Vince. "I've already learned so much today. Why not more?"

"Jack, please." Her body was rigid and her head was cocked at an angle that allowed her to look at him without really meeting his eye line. "I have been keepin' somethin' from you for a very long time. I never planned on tellin' you, but Dr. Bartlett thinks that it would be best if I did. He thinks that my guilt has been affectin' my health. I suppose he is right."

"What is it?" Jack's voice seemed to be teetering between aloof and terrified of what he was about to hear. "Were you sleeping with Bruce after we were together? One of the kids not mine?"

She exhaled a sharp breath through her nose. "Oh, I wish it were that simple."

"Just tell me."

She bit down on the inside of her lip so hard that her mouth instantly filled with the taste of blood. She swallowed hard, cleared her throat, and reached for Jack's hand. "I'm just goin' to say it fast. Don't stop me. I'm goin' to get it out…then you can say whatever you want to say. Okay?"

"Fine."

"The fall I took before we were married...when I broke my leg." Her blue eyes finally fleeted to his before darting away. "Well, it…it w-wasn't an accident. I…I fell on purpose." She stopped long enough to see Jack's eyes narrow in confusion, then anger as he ripped his hand from hers. "Jack…" She tried to touch his skin again, but he moved further away. "I…I was tryin'" She again hesitated. "I don't know what I was tryin' to do. My mother said to me… she said to me… 'Jeannie, you'll be just like me," and I couldn't live like that. I…I couldn't be her. I couldn't bring a baby in this world and be like her."

"So, you tried to kill yourself? And, Patrick?"

Her eyes met his cold glare and stayed there. "I'm not done." Her voice then began to crackle wildly as she tried to get her next words out. "T-the night that P-patrick was born, I told you that a doctor talked to me while you were callin' your Aunt, and that she said that I went into preterm labor because of stress. You remember the stress of that night, don't' you?" Her voice caught and she shifted her jaw from side to side. "A doctor did come to speak with me, but she never said anything about stress. She said that Patrick came so early because of a small tear in the placenta that probably occurred because of the fall. It was most likely missed on ultrasound, and didn't have much of an impact until he was bigger and movin' around more. So, losin' him wasn't your fault… not at all…it was mine. All mine."

Jack felt a weight lift from his back that had been sitting there and needling itself into his flesh for eleven years. A weight that had crippled him both physically and mentally. A weight that was immediately replaced with the knowledge that his wife had been allowing him to think that he, in part, had killed their son.

He hated her.

Tap…tap…tap…scribble…scribble…scribble…tap…tap…tap…scribble…scribble…scribble…

Numbness consumed Jack as he sat forward in his seat and put his hands atop his knees. For a split second he felt like crying….then he felt like laughing… then he thought if Jeannie tapped her foot one more time he would break her ankle. Or, if he heard that pencil scribble another letter he would shove it through Dr. Bartlett's eye.

"Do you have anything you would like to say, Jack?" Dr. Bartlett asked as if he were asking for the time.

Jack sucked in his cheeks, exhaled through his nose, then smiled. "Nope, Doc. I have absolutely nothing to say."

* * *

><p>The car ride home was silent. While still in the city, Jeannie felt like jumping out at every traffic light. The cut throats on the street were probably safer company for her to keep. She felt increasingly caged in as she watched the landscape go from urban skyscrapers, to outlying factory buildings, to quaint houses. A scream began to build in her lungs as they drove into Crown Pointe Estates, and she was certain that she felt the icy fingers of death wrapping around her neck as they turned onto Vicksburg Street.<p>

Before the car had even completely halted, she'd opened the door and jumped out. Her bad leg burned and tingled as she jogged across the yard, and up the front stoop. She didn't want the coming argument to breakout in the yard. Their children were with Jane Willis, and would hear the shouts of their parents. She did love her children and she didn't want them to see anymore strife between the supposed adults in the family. Besides, she felt like the safest place to be was in their house. Maybe the familiar smell of home mixed with the boxes of baby toys she had been dragging down from the attic would stop him from breaking her in two. And, if they didn't, there were plenty of sharp things to defend herself with.

There was a momentary blanket of safety that wrapped around her as she walked through the front door. She stood just inside for a beat then began to swing the door shut behind her as she sauntered down the hall to the kitchen. Just as she expected to hear the click from the latch, she heard him push in behind her. His usual ritual of taking off his hat and suit jacket and placing them carefully in their designated places was replaced by throwing them and leaving them wherever they fell. He then slammed the door so hard that it shook the house and made a crack travel up the glass of a foyer window.

"You and I are going to talk…now."

"Oh, so when we are with a psychiatrist you have nothing to say? But, now…now you want to talk? No… I need to get the kids." She began to turn away from him.

"No. They can wait." He grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him. "You are going to talk to me. Like it or not."

She ripped her arm from his grasp. "Fine…let's talk. Where should we start?"

He pocketed both his fists and glared at her. He found it remarkable how incredulous she was acting towards him. Somehow, in her mind, he was the one at fault. Maybe she really was crazy? "How 'bout for starters let's talk about these voices you've been hearing? Care to tell me about that?"

"What would you like to know?" Her tone was bleedingly sarcastic. As she looked at him she felt like he was the most stupid, uninteresting, useless human being that she had ever laid eyes on. How could she have ever wanted to make a child with him, let alone marry him?

"What have they been saying?" he asked, with just as much satire.

She straightened her skirt, then began to whirl a curl of her hair around her finger as if she were embarrassed. "Nothin' really. They sound far away and I can't make them out. It's really just mumbles. I once heard a child's voice call for help. That's been the only completely understandable thing I have heard."

"When did it start?"

"Right after I got pregnant."

"And you didn't feel like you could tell me?" With these words she realized that Jack's feelings were hurt. He felt left out of the loop, like a child that was picked last for kickball. "You felt it better to drag me into a psychiatrist's office and lay out all of this shit in front of me. Do you have any idea how I felt in there? I felt like a fool?"

"I'm sorry for that. That wasn't my goal."

"I would have helped you. I would have been supportive."

The pressure in the house began to lift, and for a moment she thought that just maybe, they would get through this without incident. "Are you satisfied?"

No such luck…

His eyes narrowed and his lips pulled into a disbelieving smirk as he looked at her as if she had sprouted another head. "No, no I'm not satisfied.….now let's talk about Patrick. Let's talk about how my son never got a chance to live because of YOU!" His anger was beginning to break out of its restraints. "You can say it was because of your mother, but I know that is bullshit. I know it was because of your stupid ballet. You didn't want a baby…so you tried to get rid of him."

Every muscle in her body went tight with rage and she lunged forward, slamming both of her hands against his chest, causing him to step backwards. "That isn't true. He was my son, too. I love him. It had nothin' to do with ballet. I was afraid of becomin' my mother. I didn't want any child to go through what she put _me_ through."

"Well, you weren't afraid enough, because that is exactly who you are and what you've become. You look like her, you sound like, you act like her… Adele Dupree in the flesh." The side of Jack's lip curled into a sneer. "Maybe Patrick was lucky. He didn't have to grow up to find what a terrible mother he has… not like our other kids. Yeah… I think he was the lucky one. You've always acted like they are some kind of goddamn punishment."

She wiped a lone tear from her cheek. "I love my children."

"Y'know what bothers me the most?" His eyes were brimming with disgust. "If you didn't want Patrick, why did you bother to even come back to Gotham? Why bring me into it at all? You could've gone to a back-alley abortionist. Or, had him in a dumpster. Or, given him away. But, I didn't have to be part of it. I wouldn't have spent the last eleven years beating myself up, drowning myself in booze to kill the guilt. Neglecting my children because I was so afraid that I might hurt them, like I did Patrick. I could've been happy. I could've married another woman. Someone who wanted to be with me."

"Marybeth?"

"Yes. She was mine. She was moving in with me. We would have gotten married and had a family. No, I wouldn't have the kids that I have now, but you don't miss what you've never had. And, they wouldn't have had to know the pain you have put them through. Now she's gone. Married to some business owner in Pittsburgh. I could've been happy."

"And, then everything would have been perfect."

"My life would not have been destroyed by some ungrateful, selfish bitch. Marybeth loved me. She would have been good to me. Not like you." He then shook his head in repulsion. "You make me wish that I didn't have my children. I can't forgive you for that. It's sickening. Just looking at you makes me nauseous. You have made me someone that I don't like; sucked the life out of me."

Jeannie took a step back and folded her arms. "Sucked the life out of you? That's hilarious! You really should have been a comedian, Jack. I could have been somethin' great. Instead I am in this house, takin' care of your children, while you are out in the city almost every night. I never leave this place. I never meet anyone new. I have nothin'. Vince Carpenetti was the only thing stimulatin' that I had in my life and you had to take him. I wish I would have slept with him when I had the chance. I wish I would have taken the kids and left with him. Then you could have found some perfect version of Marybeth, the Anti- Jeannie, and moved her into to your flawless home. We would both be a lot happier." She then pursed her lips and looked him from head to toe as if she were appraising property. "I hate you."

Jack's hands rose from his pockets in a motion that made them both jump backwards in surprise. He then grabbed both her shoulders and pulled her within a few inches of his body. His words about Marybeth were not all together untrue, but he did love Jeannie, and the notion of her hating him, was unbearable. "No, you don't. You don't hate me."

A light came into her eyes that seemed to radiate with realization. "But, I do. I hate everything about you. You're terrible for me."

His fingers pressed into her skin and he gave her a small shake to make his words more insistent. "You're not thinking straight. That's a symptom of schizophrenia, unclear thoughts…just like Dr. Bartlett said. You do love me, Jeannie."

She pulled away from him and rubbed her hands over the red marks that his fingers made on her skin. "What are you goin' to do, Jack? Shake me until I love you? Punch another appliance until I love you? Oh, I know, what might make me love you…fuck me into submission? It was the shower last time. Let's go for the laundry room this time. Your choice. What's it goin' to be?"

His hand gripped around a post in the banister and he pulled at it so hard that it snapped free. He gave it a quick glance as it sat in his palm. Then he felt his left side begin to ache once more. "You're not worth it." With one quick motion he sent the post flying into the living room, hitting a picture of the family that was taken right after Maggie was born, that sat upon the mantle and causing it to shatter on the floor. "You are not worth the effort it would take to hurt you. You simply aren't worth any of it. You are a cold, dead, shell of a woman. If you hate me so much then leave. You should have left years ago. Don't bother living in the house of a man you hate. Don't bother sleeping in his bed, or mothering his children. Just leave."

"You're right. I hate you. I hate this place. And, maybe I will leave. But, the kids are comin' with me." She had not intentions of leaving, but she was calling his bluff. She was not going to back down or lose this fight.

He felt his throat become raw as angry, hot tears filled his eyes. "I should have let you die. When I found you, instead of pulling you out of that bloody water and wrapping your wrists while Heather called for help, I should have taken the kids, grabbed a few things and left. I should have let you bleed to death. It is what you wanted. And, right now, looking at you, it's what I want to. I wish to God, I would have just let you die."

She gasped as the callousness in his words took hold of her. He had said horrible things to her in the past. Things that had left her reeling, but nothing like this. "You don't mean that, Jack."

"I do. You are a horrible mother. A horrible wife. A horrible human being. And, I feel sorry for Heather, Sullivan, Maggie, and the child you are carrying right now because they are going to know nothing but pain and disappointment having you as the _thing_ that brought them into this world." He then took a few steps towards her to punctuate his words. "You have ruined my life, and I wish you were dead, and long buried and rotted."

Her face shattered as she looked up into his green eyes. Usually, no matter how heinous the argument, she was able to find some kind of softness. Something that let her know that despite what was coming out of his mouth, he did care for her. But, now there was nothing. He looked hollow and void of sympathy. She felt a sob beginning to work its way up from the pit of her stomach and she clamped both hands over her mouth to stop it.

He felt ashamed of himself as he watched her little body contort in on itself. He could only stare as she sobbed into her hands and looked as if she were about to hit the floor in agony. He wanted to reach out and touch her, pull her to him and tell her that he was sorry and that it would all be okay. But, he knew that it wasn't true and would only make things worse. There was nothing left to do. "Jeannie." He stopped and took in a breath that rattled in his chest as if it were his last. "I'm going back into the city. I will be at Frankie's if you need me. I have a job tomorrow night...a late one. I'll come back here after it's finished." His voice began to crack once again. "If you are still here, then I will see you then. If not, tell the kids I love them."

Her hands fell away from her face and dangled lifelessly at her sides. Her lips parted as if to say something, but nothing of any consequence came out, only garbled breaths through her tears. She wrapped her arms around her torso as if she was trying to shield herself from some unseen attack, then she gave him a quick nod as if to appease his requests, before slowly walking around him and up the stair case.

He watched her until she was out of sight and he heard the click of their bedroom door. He then took a quick, evaluating look at what was once his home. It had started the day beautiful, but now there was a jagged crack in the window next to the front door, and one of the posts in the stair railing was gone. It was all falling down around him. The only thing there was for him to do, was leave.

He stood in front of his house for a moment and looked down over the little slop that emptied out into the cul-de-sac. He suddenly didn't feel anger. The same numbness that overtook him in Dr. Bartlett's office had once again resurfaced. He wondered if maybe, this was the best thing that could happen.

Maybe she would take the kids and leave.

And, if she did, they would be out of Gotham and out of harm's way. It hurt like hell, and he was certain that big chunks of his heart were falling out at his feet. But, he couldn't help but remember Sal's words to Frankie, _"I bet you miss them. You'd miss them a lot more if they were dead."_

He might be left in the city by himself, but whatever came to him, he could handle if he only knew that his family was somewhere out there safe and sound.

There would be nothing that could break him.

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><p><strong>Thanks for taking the time to read! You all are amazing!<strong>


	23. Chapter 22

**Thanks everyone who read and especially to those who reviewed the last chapter! Anonymous Rex, EthanFux, Han, can'thinkofasuitableusername, and kendramccormick, you guys keep me going! Please enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 22-<strong>

Jeannie Napier stood at her bedroom window watching her husband. She knew that at this time of the day, there was always a gleam of sunlight that eclipsed the window and there was no way that he could see her looking at him. He was standing in a sunny spot on the sidewalk, just off of the front steps. The way he stood there, looking out over their property, with his eyes squinted in the sun and his hands lazily placed in his pockets, he looked almost jaunty. Had any one of their neighbors looked out their windows and caught sight of Jack they would have simply thought that he was making plans for the next home improvement. There was no indication, whatsoever, that would have made anyone believe that the Napier household was on the pinnacle of breakdown.

As she watched him take a look over his shoulder, she fought the urge to throw up her hand and give him a goodbye wave, just in case he noticed her. Her eyes never left him as he fished his keys from his pocket then made the small walk down the sidewalk before giving the house one last look. The notion of him actually leaving turned her stomach and forced her to back away before she actually witnessed it.

She would spend the next five minutes standing in the bathroom, retching dryly, even after she had lost what little food she had eaten that day. After the bile in her stomach stopped its churning, she wiped her mouth then gave herself a once over in the mirror. She looked tired, but not overly worse for the wear. She rubbed her fingers over her blood shot eyes a few times, then quickly tamed her hair in a braid that ran straight down her back.

As she left their bedroom the house sounded breathtakingly quiet and she became very aware of her heartbeat. The mere notion of the children being in the house caused her hands to violently shake. Her fingers could barely peck at the correct numbers as she attempted to call Jane Willis and she had to grasp the receiver with both hands to properly steady it.

"Hello, Jane? Yes…how are you? And, how are the kids? They've been behavin' themselves? Yes, well we got home a little bit ago. My voice sounds what? No… no… everything is fine with the baby. But, ya see, Jack was called into work, and I'm just not feeling well at all. Mornin' sickness, y'know. I was wonderin'… Oh, thank you, Jane! You sure they wouldn't be too much trouble? Well, tell them that either Jack or I will be over in the mornin' to pick them up. No, if they are outside playin' then just leave them be. Just tell them that I love them….and, well, you know. Uh huh… thanks again, Jane."

Before she could even get the phone back into the cradle, she began to cry. She sat next to the phone for a long time with her face in her hands, and little spasms choking at her throat. Finally, her fingers trailed down her face and her hands landed in her lap, crossing each other in a way that reminded her of the way her mother would sit with folded hands and a prudish pucker over her lips.

Jack was right. Patrick was the lucky one out of her children. The poor baby boy, longer in his grave than on this earth, had never known any of the heartbreak, or fear, or bitter disenchantment that her other offspring had. The longer she sat there staring at the shards of glass from their broken family portrait, the more she realized that Jack should have let her die.

As coldhearted and devastating as his words may have been, they were completely valid. In that moment, she made up her mind to end her life. She would save her children, including the one she was carrying, a lifetime of wondering why out of all the women in the world, they were given Jeannie as a mother. She would give Jack freedom. He was handsome, and funny, and a good provider… he would have no problem meeting someone new. Someone who would be a better wife and mother… someone who was simply superior to her.

How and where she would do it would be something she would worry about later. Now, she had work to do. She started with cleaning up the glass in floor. After double bagging it to ensure that there was no way that any of her children could possibly cut themselves, she tossed it in the wastebasket, and went to cleaning up the kitchen. They had gotten a late start that morning, and the plates from breakfast still littered the kitchen table. The kind memories of the family's morning meal caused a faint smile to cross her lips as she began to clear plates, scraping the remnants of food off into the trash, and dropping them into a sink full of suds.

Jack and Sullivan had spent the entire meal going over and over again, the details of Saturday's T-ball meeting. Then they made plans to come home and get to practice that evening. Sullivan's green eyes were as round as quarters and he had a smile stretching from ear to ear cemented on his face. Jack too, was enthusiastic, and Jeannie could tell that there were no empty promises being made from father to son. Heather was also vying for her father's attention, standing next to him and rocking up to her toes while stretching her arms above her head. _"See Daddy…see. This is what I learned in ballet class."_

The smile didn't leave Jeannie's face as she decided to open the kitchen window, before dunking her hands into the soapy water. There was a wave of warm June air that hit her in the face as she clicked the window into place that carried with it the sweetest sound a mother could hear. In the distance, there were the sounds of children playing. She tried to distinguish which shrieks and laughs belonged to her children, but they muddled together with those of the Carpenetti boys and the Ryan girls. It didn't matter, at that moment, she knew they were happy.

As she dunked her hands into the dishwater she thought about how her children would take the news of their mother's death. At first it would be extremely difficult for them. Heather would weep for days and probably refuse to leave her room for a long while. Sullivan would try to keep a stiff upper lip in front of his father, but at night would go back to bed wetting and sucking his thumb. Maggie wouldn't understand, but would miss her mother, and cry for, "Ma Ma Ma Ma," but she would soon get use to only having Jack. For several months it would be a difficult transition, but they would move on. Soon enough, they would be back to running with the neighbor kids, and Jeannie would become a memory. Someone that they recognized in pictures, and sometimes missed, but someone they were better off without.

As she dried the last plate and placed it carefully back in the cabinet, another round of tears began to fall from her eyes. She brushed them away with little thought and wiped down the countertops and table, then went to work on scrubbing down baseboards, washing windows, and polishing the floors with a wax that Jack always complained made their house smell like a hospital. This was the same ritual she went through the last time. Only at this occasion she would forego cooking the family several days' worth of meals, since she knew that the neighbor ladies would gladly feed her bereaved children and husband. They would all huddle around him, saying things like, _"My goodness, Jack, I am so sorry. I never in my wildest dreams expected this. She seemed so happy. Did she give you any hint? Well, if there is anything…anything at all… that I can do for you or the kids please don't hesitate to ask."_ It would all seem very sincere, and some of it would be, but it would mostly come from a place of morbid curiosity. All of them would then sit around their coffee tables, sipping mixed drinks, smoking pretentious cigarettes and discussing the latest gossip of the neighborhood fruitcake that killed herself, as if they were discussing the plot in some great soap opera. _"We all thought she was a little different. A little too whimsical, y'know?"_

Despite, all of that, she took some comfort in knowing that Jack would at least have some support- contrived as it may be. She wanted Jack to have as little to think about as possible. He would be busy planning a funeral. She certainly didn't want him to be worrying about if the kids had clean underwear.

As she matched the last pair of socks and placed them in Heather's top drawer, she suddenly felt very angry with Jack. She was going through all of this trouble to make sure that things were easy for him, when all he could say to her was, "I wish you were dead." As her wrath began to build in the pit of her stomach she marched down the stairs, grabbed a pad of stationary, that she and Jack used to write messages back and forth, and sat down at the kitchen table and started to pen her goodbye letter.

_You are delusional and a coward. How dare you wish me dead, when everything has been your fault. You have driven me to this point. You know damn well there has never been anything between us, but some sick attraction and co-dependence…_

She stopped before she could write another word. She drummed the pen against the table top as she looked down at the paper and marveled at how crowded and angry her handwriting looked_. _This wasn't what she wanted to say to Jack. There was an outstanding amount of dishonesty between them, and she didn't want her last correspondence to him to just add to it. She crumbled the paper in her hand and pushed it to the side and started again. But, once more, nothing but hateful, vile words poured from her pen. Letter after letter ended in the same fate. She looked at the mound of balled up paper strewn across the table and she let out a sigh, and decided that they must all be burnt. She never wanted Jack to see any of it and turning it to ash was the only way to ensure that.

She picked up a book of matches from the windowsill before scooping all of the ill-fated letters up in her arms and went to the back patio where she sat on the back steps and deposited them all onto the side walk. One after another, she set them ablaze, and as their black edges curled and contorted in on themselves, she felt like a little demon in her marriage was exorcised. She picked up a stick and poked at the ash to make sure that every contemptuous word had been destroyed. Then she sat back and listened to the sounds of her neighborhood.

Everything seemed in order. Kids were playing, birds were chirping, and occasionally there would be a purr of a car engine as its driver slowed down then accelerated in the bend at the end of the road. Telling Jack that she hated this place was as ridiculous as saying she hated him. She hated the circumstances that brought her to this house and this neighborhood. She hated that she was taken out of the city against her will at the suggestion of a doctor and somehow expected not to think that her new life in the suburbs wasn't a punishment…because that is exactly what it was… a punishment for her behavior. She missed her home in The Bowery. It was to there that she brought her babies home, and there that she was the happiest with Jack, when their relationship was still sweet and fresh.

And, in that thought, she realized where she wanted to be when her life ended. She wanted to be back in her home. The risk of one of her children wondering across the street to their house and finding her body was too great to actually do it in her current dwelling. Even though the building inside The Bowery had been condemned three weeks after they moved, boarded up, and now rotting like countless other structures inside of the infamous neighborhood, it was the only safe place for her. It would be a long time before she was found; if she were found at all. Maybe, if she were lucky, Jack would think that she had simply left him with the children to care for by himself. He would be angry and hurt, but the pain of actually losing his spouse to death wouldn't be as sharp.

She then knew exactly what she wanted to say to Jack in her final letter. It would be short and to the point. There would be no mincing of words, or opportunity for misunderstanding. She stood; quickly kicking the ashes into the grass, then went back inside. She again sat at the kitchen table and began to write.

_Jack,_

_This isn't your fault. I love you._

_Always,_

_Jeannie_

Perfect.

If she were found, or just assumed to be a runaway spouse, he would know that it was her choice and in no way his doing. She also wanted him to know that, despite her words, she did love him. Very much, in fact. She almost began to laugh as she thought about actually saying: I hate you. Maybe as the words were leaving her mouth, she didn't love him. But, there was no possibility she could ever hate him. How could anybody hate him? He was…well… he was Jack.

She folded up her note and scribbled "Jack" across the back. Before leaving she would place it upon his pillow so that there was no potential way that he could miss it.

She then began to pace around her house while nervously wringing her hands, looking for anything she could have missed. Possibly a filled wastebasket? A corner full of dust? Or, maybe a drinking glass one of the children might have stuffed into a bookcase.

Nothing.

She then sunk down in a bathtub full of hot water and soaked for what must have been at least two hours. For a long while her mind was completely void and her eyes were transfixed on the sight of her painted toes moving the knob from hot water to off. At some point she removed her wedding and engagement rings and began to look them over carefully. She couldn't decide if she should wear them or not. Maybe her daughters would want them someday? If she left them behind it would add to the illusion that she had simply left the family. But, if she were to be found, she feared that the discovery of her body without her wedding rings would make Jack think that not only had she severed her life, but her attachment to him as well.

She shook her head then placed them carefully on the edge of the tub. She would make that decision later. As her fingers dropped her jewelry she noticed the vulgar scars on her wrists, which looked more venomous than ever and seemed to be pushing her to answer the impossible question of how she was going to do it. It wasn't a question she was ready to answer or even think about yet. She supposed the when the time was upon her, she would know what to do.

After drying herself off, she dressed in something comfortable, left her curls hanging loosely around her face, placed the letter to Jack atop his pillow, then lovingly put her wedding ring back into place on her finger, but left the engagement ring that belonged to Jack's mother on the bathroom sink. She slowly walked from room to room on the second floor, making certain that every bed was made with fresh sheets. After there was nothing left to slow her down, she moved to the first floor and gave it another quick look through.

Her keys seemed a little heavier in her hand than normal as she picked them up from the door-side table, and hooked them around her index finger. As she looked back over her shoulder, down the hallway to the kitchen, she felt the corners of her mouth threaten to pull down into a deep frown that would surely prelude an uncontrollable fit of tears. But, she cleared her throat and gave a little self-assuring nod, to remind her that she was doing what was best for her family.

Her chest tightened as she walked down the sidewalk to her car, which suddenly looked extraordinarily pathetic sitting off to the side of the garage. The fact that this was the last time she would ever be in this house, that was built for her, was something that she was trying very hard to keep from crossing her mind. As she backed down the driveway she made a conscious effort not to look at the Willis home. Seeing one of her children would be too much for her. She had to stay the course. As sick, and repulsing as it was, she was doing this for their wellbeing.

She drove around Gotham for two hours, taking in the sights of the places that were most important to her. If she happened to catch a glimpse of her husband along the way… well, that would have been okay, too. Her journey began by driving by her parent's home. She didn't bother to travel up the driveway, it looked sad enough from the road. Ivy was growing up the discolored bricks and a few of the windows were broken, with stained curtains flowing outside of them. The gates at the entry were rusted and one had fallen from its hinges. The entire sight was miserable.

She then took a drive past the Midtown Ballet, and silently wondered to herself what made the pretty brunette now gracing their marquee posters, so special. As she turned onto the gray streets of The Bowery, she felt at home. The same beggars inhabited the same doorways, and the same prostitutes, graced the same street corners. The familiarity was oddly comforting, and made her feel… at peace. She parked her car down an alley somewhere between The Bowery Tavern and her old building. A part of her very much wanted take a quick walk to her husband's favorite beer joint, just to see if he was there. But, what if he was? What would she say to him?

She stood at the bottom of the steps of her old apartment building for a full five minutes with tears puddling at the corners of her eyes. It looked like a wrapped up corpse with heavy wooden planks nailed to the first four stories worth of windows. It took every bit of strength in her body to take the first step, but she soon found her stride. She tried the door, and with a little effort it pushed open, scraping the floor and making a terrible squeak that reverberated through the building. If there were any criminals in the building, using it as an easy place to hide, then they knew she was there now.

Nostalgia wrapped itself around her as she took to the stairs. Upon every landing she half expected an eccentric neighbor to stop her with their bony, spotted hands and engage her in a conversation about the weather, or arthritis, or what she planned to name the new baby. When she finally reached the door that used to be hers, she stopped and placed her hands over its chipping white paint. Just as she applied the slightest bit of pressure, the door wobbled enough to let her know that it was unlatched and someone was inside.

She began to back away as terror rushed through her. Although her purpose for coming to this place was death; it was death on her own terms. Not for it to be found under the reddened face of a miscreant as he grunted on top of her then slit her throat. With that, she knew she was making the wrong choice. She absolutely did NOT want to die. The thought of death abruptly terrified and revolted her. She just wanted things to be different, and coming here was a costly, not to mention stupid mistake. Now all she wanted was to be in her overly priced, boring suburban home, cooking dinner for her extraordinarily conventional family, and sleeping next to her dull husband who snored and stole the covers.

Before she could get her brain to tell her feet to turn, the door snapped open and she was met with the barrel of a pistol pointing between her eyes. "Please…please… don't!" she screeched backing up until she hit the wall behind her.

"Jeannie?" his voice caused her to open her eyes. "What the hell are you doing here? You know what kind of people are in this neighborhood."

"Jack?" she said, as her vision focused in on his image, only illuminated from the setting sun glowing through a window at the end of the hall. "I…I thought you were at Frankie's?"

He finally lowered his pistol to his side and rubbed his hand across his chest as if he were trying to will his heart to slow down. "I decided to come here instead. I… I stay here sometimes, when I can't come home."

"Oh…" She was still too shaken to move.

"You still haven't told me why _you_ are here."

She couldn't tell him the truth, so she added another lie upon the mound that stood between them. "I don't know. I just wanted out of the house and somehow ended up here."

"Where are the kids?"

"Still with Jane. They are goin' to spend the night with her."

He looked down the stairwell, expecting Mrs. Burkiss to stomp out and shriek at them for being too loud. "Come on, get inside." He took her arm, and pulled her forward, latching the door and locking it behind them.

This was the first time she had been back inside of her home in The Bowery since her "accident". The evening sun was giving it a warm undertone and it was almost easy to forget that the dark stains on the carpet were from dried blood that dripped from her self-inflicted gashes as paramedics took her away. Jack had left everything…everything. The furniture, the appliances, the pots and pans, the dishes. He bought everything new for the Crown Pointe house. It was his way of making sure no unwanted ghosts from the past haunted their future. This place looked and felt like home.

She turned to him and found him in the same pose he had taken on when she told him she was pregnant with Patrick. Back flat against the door with an expression of confusion and defeat. She began to twist her fingers, and her lips quivered as she sucked in a gurgling breath. "You don't really wish I was dead, do ya Jack?"

His shoulders dropped and his expression gave no hint to if he wanted to kiss her or strangle her. "Of course I don't. That's a ridiculous question."

She gave him a tight lipped grin and sat down on their old faded couch that bore the scars of three children. "It is, isn't it? You know I don't really hate you, right?"

"I know," he said taking a seat next to her and placing his hand upon her knee. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry for it all. Everything I said...I...I just can't apologize enough."

"Me too. I've never meant to hurt you. I know I have always been so hard on you. While I was growin' up I always thought that there was a world full of golden, shiny people that were witty, and smart, and talented. And, they always knew exactly what to do or say in any given situation. I knew that when I grew up I would find those people, and they would welcome me into their group without question, because I undoubtedly belonged with them. Then when I became an adult, and I realized that those people didn't exist, I was angry and I wanted to blame someone. You unfortunately have taken the brunt of it. I'm sorry I've treated you like you were unworthy. I'm sorry I haven't loved you enough."

He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. "There's always tomorrow, Jeannie. We've got the rest of our lives."

They then both felt very silly, and they could barely look each other square in the face. He was embarrassed and so was she. Embarrassed that they once again were in this spot. Would it ever be different? Would they always almost break the summit before losing their footing and sliding all the way back down the mountain.

Jeannie finally decided to break the tension between them. "So, you come here? I always imagined you being passed out in a bar, or a… a whore house."

He chuckled then shook his head. "No... not a whore house. I would usually stop off at The Bowery Tavern, then grab a box of bad takeout and come here." He poked his pointed finger against a half-eaten box of Chinese food. "The water still works, and the electric did up until about two months ago."

She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up underneath her. "I wish I would have known that… it would have saved me many sleepless nights. And, maybe I would have hidden away here, too."

He gave her a dry smile. "If it makes you feel better, I always wished you were here with me."

"That's bullshit." She smiled. "You came here to get away from me."

"Not always."

Her eyes then became incredibly sad as she looked up to him beneath heavy eyelashes. "You still love me, don't you?"

He let out a biting laugh as if what she just said was the most amazingly moronic thing he had ever heard. "You know I love you. I will never stop loving you. Never! Not for any reason!"

She then scooted a tad bit closer to him, and gave him a very serious expression. "Jack, where is Vince?"

His jaw tightened and he looked as if he might again try to deny any involvement in Vince's sudden disappearance, but then he hung his head and took a deep breath. "He...He's in the trunk of the 'fixer-up' car. I d-didn't know what else to do with him… it all happened so fast."

"Wait." She stopped him. "He is still there…now?"

Jack looked up to her almost bashfully and nodded.

"Why? Why haven't you gotten rid of him… like all of the rest?"

He gave her a cautionary grimace. Since the night he killed her father, he had been extremely stout when it came to the rule of not talking about his work. But, he supposed that in this situation, especially since his work with Sal was coming to a screeching halt, that he could make an exception. "It's not like the rest. Those are hired hits. They happen in places that are well thought out when it comes to disposal… not in my garage."

"What did you do?"

He looked away as if he were searching for the answer somewhere hidden in the ever darkening walls of the apartment. "Jeannie, I really don't know. After we fought, it felt like something else took hold of me. I remember Vince walking up the driveway and then it goes blank. The next thing I know he is dead on the floor with a crushed skull. I wrapped him up in a tarp, put him in the trunk, and cleaned up the blood."

She let out a sigh from between her teeth, met his eye line, and pushed away the guilt of knowing Vince's wife and children would always think that they had been abandoned. "Get rid of him. We can still have a normal life, Jack. When you get home tomorrow night_, just get rid of him_. It will be like it never happened."

He looked back to her with trepidation and shook his head. "No, it can't work that way."

"Jack, please." She took his hand between both of hers. "Please, don't let today destroy everything. Let's just go home now and put this all behind us."

"It has nothing to do with today." His voice sounded downtrodden and desperate. "Listen Jeannie, something has happened. I…" He stopped short as he tried to pick his words purposely and carefully. He wanted no wasted words. "I haven't been honest with you about how I've gotten extra money throughout the years. You've heard of the Red Hood, right?"

"Of course…"

"Well." He swallowed down a hard ball of nerves. "That's me. N-not all of the time… but…but often."

She looked at him completely deadpan for a moment, then her lips began to curve into an ironic grin. "Don't you think I already know that?"

His eyes rounded. "What? You do?"

"It's not like it was hard to figure out. I know Sal wouldn't front you the money for our house, and I've heard the story of Helen leavin' you the money for it, and I know that isn't true. You always have jobs around the same time that there is a Red Hood robbery. And, then there was that surveillance camera picture… I've been lookin' at your back for eleven years. I know what it looks like. "

He felt a little self-conscious as he watched her expression change from apprehensive to almost mocking. The ruse that he thought had worked so well all of these years had fallen flat on its face and left him looking like a chump who still believed a great lie. "Well, you're not the only one that knows now. Sal is in on the big secret, too."

Her brow knit together and then her eyes widened with understanding. Although, Jack had successfully kept his home life and career separate, Jeannie was not completely unaware of the consequences that came along with being disloyal. "How?"

"Frankie told him."

She was so aghast that she stood up and looked at Jack with such hatred for his long-time friend that it was startling. "How could he do that? He has killed us."

Jack grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to her seat. "Sal threatened his kids."

"So he offered ours up, instead? Some friend."

"No. That's not what he did."

"How can you defend him?"

"Because, I would have done the same thing." Jack looked away as if he were ashamed of his admission. "If the roles were reversed, I wouldn't have thought twice."

She shook her head like an admonishing parent. "What does all of this mean for us?"

He knew how she would take his coming statement so he straightened his spine and took on a very commanding, completely in control countenance. "It means that we have to leave."

"For how long?"

"For good."

She sat back and took in his words. Not that long ago she was plotting her own death, but now all she wanted was to go home with her husband…and that couldn't happen. At least, not permanently. She was conflicted, and bewildered, and most of all frightened for the safety of her children. "When do we have to leave?"

"Yesterday would have been best."

"Oh, God, Jack this can't be happenin'." She began to rub her fingers over her forehead as her voice became small and exceptionally weak and flouncy.

He put his hand on her cheek and forced her to look at him. "Wait, we can't fall apart now. Whatever they are planning is supposed to happen over the weekend. I think it would be best if you and the kids leave tomorrow afternoon, get a head start. I have a job with the Red Hood Gang tomorrow night. It's a big one and it will set us up for a long time. I will catch up with you. We will go wherever you want and we will make a new life. A happy life."

"Where should we go? Metropolis?"

"Not far enough."

"How will you find us?"

He glanced at her and shrugged in a way that let her know that he might not. That Sal might get to him first and that she may be on her own with the children. "We will figure it out. Don't worry, I'll find you."

"We're not goin' to get through this one are we, Napier?"

He ran his thumb over her cheekbone. "Of course we will. This is just a bump in the road. Nothing that we can't recover from." He then gave her a completely phony smile. "How does Florida sound? Sarasota? It's warm there all the time…well, I guess it is. It's warmer than here, at least. We'll buy a house on the water and start over. We will forget that Gotham City even exists."

"Okay." She began to nod with a half-cocked smile that was more for herself than for him. Maybe if she acted convinced, then somehow she would be. "Florida it is. We will meet you there."

He pulled her close and gave her a kiss atop her head. "Yeah! It's going to be fine. I love you. You need to remember that. No matter what happens, I love you."

She then placed her hands on his face and gave him a sweet, perfect kiss. "I love you, too."

They decided to spend the night in their Bowery apartment. They laughed and joked about the old times and all of the things that used to be such a big deal that seemed so minuscule now. He made love to her twice in the bed that they once shared every night, and the man who was so rough, groping and using her in the shower, was nowhere to be found. Again, as they settled down into each other's warm embraces, they were in a hopeful spot. They would start anew, in a new town, in a new state. Gotham City and all of its monsters would be a _memory_.

Nothing more than a bad dream.

* * *

><p>Small rays of sunlight spilled through the window shades and broke over Jack's face, causing him to squint open one eye before rolling away to face Jeannie. He became very aware of the sound of a fly buzzing around the room, and he couldn't get back to sleep. His eyes fixated on his pretty ballerina sleeping so soundly beside of him. Despite the world falling down around him, he couldn't help but smile. Maybe their plan would work? He could go to the Ace Chemical Company that night safe in the knowledge that his family was on a south facing road, heading for the sunshine state. He would collect his wages, and bright and early Saturday morning he would be hot on his family's tail. It was all going to be perfect and something to look forward to.<p>

And today…

Today was going to be a _good day_….

Maybe even a great day…

He let Jeannie sleep for a few more minutes then he lightly jostled her awake. They dressed and left their apartment with the melancholy of knowing that it was the last time they would ever stand within its small confines.

They drove home separately, and after pulling into their driveway they both sat side by side on the front steps talking about their plan. "Now, I want you to pack light. Just take what you absolutely need. I will gather up family pictures and sentimental things and bring them with me. Remember… we will just buy new in Sarasota," he said to her, rubbing his fingers over her knee, and occasionally turning his eyes to her to make sure she was listening.

"I can do that. Y'know, Jack, this is kinda excitin'. We could be really happy there. Maybe this godforsaken city has been the problem all of these years."

"Maybe. No reason to think we won't be happy."

They decided to tell the children together and as soon as possible. Jeannie insisted upon going into the house, while he walked over to the Willis' to pick up the kids. "They will be so excited if it is you who comes to get them!" As soon as she walked through the door, she ran up the stairs to their bedroom, grabbed her goodbye letter from his pillow, and then ripped it to tiny shreds and stuffed it to the bottom of her underwear drawer.

"Are you two getting a divorce?" Was the first question Heather asked, as Jeannie and Jack stood before their two oldest children who were wiggling and fidgeting on the couch. "Cause this is how they tell the kids in the movies."

"No," Jack assured as he bounced Maggie on his hip a few times before placing her in the playpen. "We aren't getting a divorce." The way his children sat before him with folded hands and half hesitant, half uninterested expressions across their faces reminded him of the way his father stood in front of he and Molly with a rigid back and told them of the death of their mother in a mechanical, overly-rehearsed timbre.

"Then why are we sittin' here?" Heather questioned with a remarkable amount of boldness.

Jack and Jeannie traded nervous glances, and seemed to prod the other to start. "Well." Jeannie decided to be the brave one. "We're movin'."

A litany of emotions traveled across the children's faces in the span of a few moments. Their mouths fell open and their brows creased as their cheeks reddened. "Again?" Heather finally spat out.

"Yes." Jack said conjuring up his best fatherly voice.

"But, why?"

"Because we think it's best."

"Why is it best?" Heather's voice was bordering on belligerent.

"Because it is." Jack countered.

"When are we moving?" Sullivan asked taking his sister's hand in his own.

Jeannie cleared her throat and fretfully stepped closer to her husband for support. "You, Heather, Maggie, and I are goin' to leave today. Your dad will be comin' soon."

"TODAY!" Heather screamed as she jumped to her feet. "I have a ballet recital coming up! I have to be there! I just have to!"

"Sweetheart, there are ballet classes in other cities." Jeannie tried to reassure, but she knew that she was fighting a losing battle.

"I have an important role!" Heather's voice was becoming so shrill that it could have broken glass.

"Yes, I know, flower number three, is a very important role, but I promise they will survive without you." Jeannie felt like there was a hot poker jabbing the back of her eyes.

Heather crossed her arms and stomped her feet as her entire face turned a bright crimson. "I hate you both! You've ruined my life!" She punctuated her last words by flapping her arms against her sides and stomping away, shrieking and wailing in sobs as she tramped up the stairs.

Sullivan folded his hands in his lap, and sheepishly looked up to his parents. "Do ya think they will have another t-ball team where we move, Dad?

Jack let out a guilty sigh. "Yeah, son, they will."

"You're coming for sure, aren't ya, Dad?"

There was something in the way Sullivan's voice squeaked out the words that tore Jack to shreds and his own childhood voice filled his head, and again he was chasing Joseph Napier down his Aunt's driveway begging for answers.

"_You'll be back, right?"_

"_You'll be back, won't ya dad?"_

"_Dad...Dad... when are ya coming back?"_

Jack felt the pain in his side rear its ugly head, and he did his best to stop the grimace of pain from showing too prominently on his face. "Of course I'm coming… for sure. I'll never leave you, Sully."

Sullivan then gave his father a completely trusting nod, and stood up. "Can I have something to eat, Mom?"

As Sullivan sat at the kitchen table thoughtfully chewing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and doing his best not to suck his thumb between bites, Jeannie awkwardly followed Jack around as he readied himself for the day ahead.

"You gotta calm down, honey," Jack said, straightening his tie in a mirror that hung next to the door.

"I'm just a little nervous about the drive." She put her hand on his stomach and snaked her arm around his torso, under his suit jacket, and pulled his body as closely to hers as she could. "That's a long way to go, just me and three kids."

He looked down into her face and gave her a little wink. "I have faith in ya." He then took one last look at his reflection as he placed his hat atop his head. "It's time for me to be going. I got to meet a couple of guys this afternoon to firm up our plans."

She followed him out onto the front steps and shielded her face from the sun. "Be careful tonight, please." She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

"I'll be fine. This is a simple job…in and out." He then gave her a long, loving kiss breaking it only to cradle her face in his hand and place his forehead against hers. "I'll see you in Sarasota, in a few days. Don't let Heather bully you too much. Those ballerinas can be tough. Be careful on the road and tell the kids I love them."

She chuckled then gave him another swift kiss. "I will."

"Okay, then."

"Okay."

He gave her a crooked grin, then casually strolled away. She stood in the yard watching him back the car into the road, and as he straightened it at the bottom of the hill, she threw up her hand and gave him a half-hearted wave. She didn't move until the car was far out of sight. It was then that she felt a sick urge to go inspect the garage to see what remnants of Vince Carpenetti were left.

She made a C shape with her hands and placed them aside her face as she rocked to her tip-toes and peered through a window in the garage door. She expected to see something gruesome…something horrifying. But, there was nothing. Not even a screw out of place. She pushed the garage door up and slowly entered, making a straight line towards the car keys that hung on a nail at the back of the garage. She bounced them up and down in her hand, and her nose curled as she contemplated actually opening the trunk. Did she really want to see a dead body that had been lying in a hot, dark space for almost a week? She placed her hands atop the car and stuck the keys in the lock in the middle of the trunk. She almost began to laugh as her mind traveled back to actually contemplating taking her own life. Could that really have been just a few hours ago? Did she really think it would have been better for her family to know that her body had decayed in a stinking apartment than for her to actually be a mother, even if it were a subpar mother? She turned the key and the trunk popped up enough for a horrendous smell to reach her nostrils, causing her to retch and slam it closed again. She backed away covering her mouth with one hand and bracing her stomach with the other. She felt like screaming. Screaming for her neighbor that she had tender feelings for. Screaming for her husband who had killed him. Screaming for the life she was losing. But instead, she heard the sound of Maggie beginning to cry, and she hurried inside before her daughter could explode into full blown tantrum.

After calming her youngest daughter she noticed that Sullivan had lost the battle with his anxiety and was sitting at the kitchen table with his thumb stuck firmly in his mouth and silent tears falling down his face. Her own tears then began to fall and she decided the best thing to do was set to the task of gathering the few things she would be taking with them. She started in her own room, packing just enough to fill a small tote bag, then she moved to Sullivan's room, then to Maggie's. Finally, she went to Heather's room and hesitated before opening the door. She wasn't in the mood for another fit. After watching her husband leave, knowing full well that the man they were running from could kill him, and smelling the stench of her neighbor rotting in a car in her garage, she just couldn't handle it. Her nerves were too frayed.

She found Heather sitting in the middle of her bed, stroking a pair of satin pointe-shoes and chewing on her bottom lip. "Sweetheart, you need to pick out a few things to bring with you."

"Just a few? What about all of my clothes?"

"We will buy more. Just bring your favorites."

"What about my toys."

"We'll buy more."

Again, Heather's voice began to sound like nails on a chalkboard. "…but, my dollhouse…what about my dollhouse?"

Jeannie sat on the bed next to her daughter. "I'm sorry Heather…we can't bring it. We will find another that is just as nice."

Heather's eyes again filled with tears and her bottom lip quivered. "I hate this. I just wish I were dead."

Before Jeannie could stop herself, she reached up and sent a sharp slap across her daughter's mouth, then grabbed either side of her face. "Don't you ever say that! Don't you ever say that, again. Go down stairs now! I am too busy to deal with someone who is too spoiled and silly to understand that you don't always get what you want."

Heather covered her lips in shock then jumped from her bed and sprinted down the stairs to the first floor, leaving her mother shaking on the bed. Jeannie couldn't stop the harsh spasms of sobs from pouring from her body. She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth on the edge of her daughter's bed. She collapsed down into Heather's pillows and spent several minutes rubbing her stinging hand and openly howling in despair.

She finally collected herself enough to stand with quivering knees and began to pick through Heather's clothing, pulling out just enough to fill another tote bag. She then wobbled back to her own bedroom and stretched up to the top shelf in the closet to pull down a small shoe box worth of baby things that belonged to Patrick. She opened it up and ran her hand over every little memento: a pacifier, a baby bottle, a rattle, and little receiving blanket with a big "P" embroidered in one of its corners. These were things that she would take with her. These were things too precious to chance leaving behind.

Just as she was placing the top back on the box, she heard something that was completely familiar, yet completely out of place. It took her a moment to place it, but then she recognized the sound of the knob on her front door, twisting and jiggling. At first, she simply thought that Jack had forgotten something and returned home, but then she remembered that she hadn't heard the car pull back into the driveway, and if it were Jack there was no reason for him to jiggle the knob, he would've had a key. Then the sound became louder, as if the door was being pushed in.

Then her ears were met with the most dreadful, earthshattering noise that she had ever heard- the shrill screams from both of her oldest children, followed by high pitched crying from Maggie. Her breath caught in her chest as she sprung to her feet. She was so panicked that she lost her footing and tripped as she ran out of her room. She slid down the hallway several feet, scrapping her knees along the way. As she righted herself again another round of screams shook the house and she heard one her children cry, "Mommy! Please help me!" As she came to the top step, she could see that the door was standing open with pieces of wood splintered from where the deadbolt used to be.

As she flew to the first floor, her mind raced with all of the possible nightmarish things that could be happening to her children. The cries grew louder with every step and as she reached the bottom stair she was met with a sight more shocking than she could have ever imagined.

And, that sight, would be the last thing Jeannie Napier would ever remember.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! You guys are amazing!<strong>


	24. Chapter 23

**Hello everyone! I hope you all are doing fantastically well today! Let me begin by saying, "WOW", the response to last chapter was amazing! Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read! And, thank you to everyone who reviewed: Anonymous Rex, EthanFlux, Han, Nicki, Gideon Moriattis, can'thinkofasuitableusername, and kendramccormick! You guys are fantastic! **

**So let me first warn you that this chapter is a long one! LONG! LONG! LONG! It is also rated M, and please be aware that this chapter is very disturbing and deals with some very dark themes. I am sure if you read the last chapter then you know that this chapter is going to be a heavy one. Please take those things into consideration before you continue.**

**There maybe a few things in the chapter that are a little confusing (I have faith that you all with be able to figure it out), but I promise you will understand by the end.  
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**Without any further ado…. Please enjoy your penultimate chapter.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 23-<strong>

There were a few clouds rolling in and defacing the city's sky line slowly, menacingly like poison flowing through veins as Jack walked through the heavy, doubled doors of The Bowery Tavern. He immediately scanned the room for his two partners. The bar was surprisingly full for a Friday afternoon. There were several businessmen enjoying extended lunch breaks, a mounding handful of longshoreman from the nearby docks, some young sailors in town for fleet week, a few drunks that had probably not moved from their seats for days, and a few ladies of questionable morality littering the crowd. Out of the members of The Red Hood Gang, Jack was the first to arrive.

He felt almost giddy as he climbed upon a barstool to wait. Jack had made the choice to push back the overwhelmingly bad things about his current situation, and only think of the good. He would not think about losing his home, or that his children would once again have to go through another transition. He would not dwell on the fact that Sal's men could very well slay him before he escaped the Gotham City limits. Or, that the job he would be doing this night could end with him being arrested or killed. No, those things were of no consequence to him as he motioned for the balding bartender, Larry, to serve him his usual.

All he could think of were the possibilities that lied ahead. The Napiers would find a good neighborhood, close to the beach where his children would be safe. There would be new quirky neighbors and a new house, better than the old one. Jeannie's skin would always be the pretty shade of beige that it had gained from a day of lying next to a pool and she would always look healthy and happy. He would have money, and he would have peace.

Disembodied voices, antipsychotic medications, and the cancer that was Gotham would be left in his rearview mirror.

He always found it curious that he and Jeannie could go from edge of disaster to bliss in a matter of moments. It was almost as if they would settle down into a rhythm of togetherness that seemed too bland for the spontaneous life that she had imagined for herself, so she had to shake it up. Almost, as if it were an instinct, she seemed to thrive on the drama. There would be a twinkle in her eye, as they came back together, that cued him that she actually enjoyed it. There was something voluptuous and climactic about it for her. She enjoyed pulling his strings just to see how far she could push him. How infinite his capacity for forgiveness was for her.

And, that is what it was… infinite.

He rubbed his hand across his forehead as he thought about the way she would tip her chin up and give him a half grin whenever she contemplated taking him back. She never seemed to worry about him actually leaving her. There had been more than one instance that he had threatened it, but he would never actually do it. He knew that and so did she. She held her full affection just out of his reach like blackmail. It was unfair, but he allowed it. She was his ultimate weakness. Again, his well of clemency never ran dry when it came to his ballerina. No matter what she did or put him through, he would excuse her without too much thought or hesitation.

She killed Patrick… she threw herself down a flight of stairs and subsequently killed his child. Yet, he forgave her. How was that possible? How could he love her so intensely that he could so easily pardon the unforgivable?

He remembered the first time he saw her walking down the hallway outside of the ballroom at the Gotham Plaza Hotel, and how the moment their eyes met he knew that she was the one. His true love… his soul mate… his immortal other self. He looked at her and thought: _I know you. I've known you my entire life. I've been waiting…waiting so long for you to show up. And here you are, finally making an appearance. Where the hell have you been? _

He had shut down after the war. He was a shell, who didn't value the gift of each morning, sleep walking through life. Seeing her made him wake up. The very possibility of touching this lovely creature that he felt was the other half to his soul made him want to be alive. Even though he was yet to know she existed, she must have been the reason that he made it home from the battle field. The mere possibility that something existed just for him, was the reason that he didn't bleed out on the side of a road after his convoy was attached, and he was being called a lost cause by medics. She was his perfect mate, and if there were a God, or demigods, or cosmic force that created life, it would not have breathed her into existence if it did not mean for Jack to be alive and to be with her. Without Jeannie there would be no Jack Napier.

He knew that, and that is why he forgave her.

And, always would, no matter how vile the sin.

There was a brief cascade of light that filled the bar as one of the doors swung open, and Jack looked over the rim of his glass to find his two partners shoving their way through the crowd, and the taller of the two pushing a sleeping alcoholic from his seat into the floor, to clear a table. Jack slid from his seat at the bar, as if he were stumbling out of bed in the morning, glass of whiskey firmly in hand, and turned and twisted his way to the table. Without a word he pulled out the remaining empty chair and plopped down, crossing his arms over the table and giving the two men a jovial, almost goofy smile.

Nothing was going to get him down.

"Alright, gentlemen, lets skip the pleasantries, and get right down to business." Jack tapped the brim of his hat with his thumb, pushing it slightly above his eyes.

"Sounds good to me," the tall, thin one said, waving to the bartender. "Let's go over the plan again."

Jack dug into his pocket bringing out the map of Ace Chemical, which was now splattered with little droplets of Vince's blood that had dried to a dark rusty color, and spread it across the table. "At eleven there will be no guards on the North side of the plant... the side closest to the river. That's when and where we will go in. There is a fence, but it's short and we should easily be able to jump it." Jack's eyes shifted back and forth between his partners and the map. "We go through building 706, which is never guarded, to the business office. I know the codes, so we will be in and out in a matter of minutes."

"And, you're certain there ain't no guards in that building?" The shorter man questioned with a quizzical wrinkle in his brow that stretched from one side of his head to the other.

"That building is only there to house chemical waste. No research or manufacturing takes place inside of it, so there isn't any reason to guard it. Trust me, have yourself a drink, and relax. It's going to be a big night." Jack then felt a surge of excitement as he realized that he was almost home free. The planning stages of this job, which had been going on for months, were over. He took another drink from his glass and then became very animated with his hands as he spoke. "You know my wife has had this figured out. She has known about my 'side job', for… well… I don't know how long. It feels kinda good that she knows. Lying to her…that has been the worst part… and that's over now."

He felt like this was an exhilarating development in his life, and one that he couldn't contain. But, for every ounce of his enthusiasm, he was met with an equal amount of disinterest. Jack's shoulders slumped forward and his mouth pulled to one side in disappointment as he looked up in time to see the glass in the doors filled with the distorted bodies of what looked to be two cops. He folded up the map and stuck it back in his pocket as he kept a close eye on them as they pushed open the doors and made their way towards the bar, taking quick looks at the patrons as they walked. One was dressed in a standard Gotham City Police uniform and the other in a trench coat and fedora. Police were not an unusual sight in The Bowery or The Bowery Tavern, for that matter, so he didn't give them much thought….

…that was until he looked up to find them standing right next to him.

"Excuse me sir, we're police officers could we talk to you for a moment?" The one in the trench coat asked in a pleasant, yet authoritative tone, as he flashed a shiny golden badge in front of Jack's face.

Jack swallowed hard as his eyes darted to the two other men at the table who were cowering beneath the brims of their hats and had somehow inexplicably managed to camouflage themselves into the crowd without moving an inch.

"Me? B-but why?" Jack was taken aback by the sound of his own voice. It felt like the words were being pushed up from his diaphragm and coming out in an obnoxiously diffident whine, without him having any control of it.

The one in uniform snapped a photograph down in front of him, which made a _"FNAP"_ sound as it hit the table. "Y'see…we are looking for this guy. And you…_ you_ look an awful lot like him."

Jack turned his gaze down to the picture without moving his head. He had to admit, out of his peripheral vision he did share a striking resemblance with the guy, who was standing awkwardly with his hand over the shoulder of what must have been his wife or girlfriend. And, it was the woman in the photo who struck Jack so oddly, and left him slack jawed. She looked so much like Jeannie that he had to do a double take. She looked like his wife might have, if she had lived a different life. Like another version of herself.

Jack placed his index finger on the photo and scooted it away. "Well, it's not me."

"The resemblance is uncanny… you got a name?" The cop in uniform asked in an accusatory tone, picking up the picture and looking from it, to Jack, and back again.

"Does that guy have a name?" Jack asked belligerently and pointed a rigid finger at the photo.

"Joseph Kerr."

"Not me," Jack said with a what-more-do-you-want shrug. "My name is Jack …uh….White."

"You got I.D.?" The cop in the trench coat asked.

Jack began to pat his suit up and down as if he were truly looking. He then stopped, upturned his palms, and smiled. "Opps…guess I forgot my wallet. This Joseph Kerr… he done something?"

The cop gave him a cynical smirk then nodded. "Wife reported him missing…if you see him… please contact us. Thanks for your time, Mr. Uh…White."

"Anything to help those who serve and protect." Jack gave a toothy grin, and kept his gaze trained on the two cops as they left, then sat back and let out a long held sigh as he looked to his partners. "That was a little too close for my taste. Some guy out on a wild scooch hunt is not going to get my ass thrown in jail." Then the pain in Jack's side turned up once again and he winced as it shot across his stomach. He wasn't sure what it was, but it seemed as if at that moment the world shifted a little on its axis. Something within him told him to call home to see if Jeannie had left yet. Just to check on them. "Excuse me for a second," Jack said standing up, then walking to a bank of payphones beside the bathrooms.

He listened to the clunk of his quarters falling into the phone, then he hesitantly dialed his phone number. He almost hung up before the ring. If they were still home, Jeannie would be frazzled trying to pack up three kids and getting a phone call from him as he sat in a bar would do nothing but reignite the argument that they were just putting out. But, he needed to know they were safe, so he allowed the call to go through. He wasn't sure why, but every time his ears were filled with the sound of the phone ringing, he felt a little twist of anxiety tighten in his gut. If she wasn't answering then she was on the road, and there were a merit of things that could happen to his family if they were traveling. By the fifth ring he assumed they were no longer home and he took the phone from his ear to hang it up. Then he heard the faint, muffled sound of the line connecting on the other side. "Jeannie?" he questioned into the receiver. But, there was nothing… no response. The line then went dead.

He began to rifle through his pockets looking for more change. Nothing. After bumming a couple of quarters from a heavy-set lady who was dressed far too sparsely for her body type, he made the call again. Again, the call connected, but this time instead of being immediately cut off, it sounded as if the phone had been sat down, and left, so that it couldn't ring anymore. He couldn't make out what he was hearing in the background. A few footsteps, a voice…maybe two voices, a door closing, a kitchen chair being moved. But, there was nothing concrete that would give him a clue as to why whoever it was that picked up the phone wasn't speaking.

This time he was the one to hang up. He then stood there for a long while with his hand pressing into his sore side and staring into the crowded bar. What the hell was happening back in Crown Pointe? The kids were probably just messing around. He didn't need to panic or let his imagination run away…at least not yet. Finally, he forced his feet to move and he went back to the table and threw out a few dollars onto its top. "Uh…listen fellas, I got to get home. My wife isn't feeling too well."

The taller of the two sat back and folded his arms. "You ain't backing out are you? Nobody backing out now, remains healthy."

Jack knew what that meant; he got the picture. As he swallowed down a lump of anxiety that stuck in his throat, he forced a pleasant, calm expression and tried to seem completely unfazed. There was no reason to be shaken! He would get home to find that he had wasted forty-five minutes on the road to arrive just as his family was packing up the car or already long gone. He gave his partners a cheery, go-getter smile, then let out a sardonic laugh. "You kidding? What's happening tonight, it's no little thing. I'd have to be crazy to back out."

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><p>As Jack pulled into his driveway, he sat in the driver's seat for a long time considering his home. Why the hell did he build it so large? What was he trying to prove? So much time, and money, and sweat, and tears had been placed into this dwelling. He thought that it would make everything better. Everything new again, like a re-do. He bet his entire happiness on this home… and now look at it. Yes, it may have been pleasantly perched up on its little knoll, looking down at the other houses as if it were king of the mountain, but it was empty. The family that lived within it would soon be gone. For all of its grandeur, it was bleak.<p>

And lonely.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, other than the garage door was standing open. She must have been searching for something and simply forgot to close it. He pulled it shut as he walked by and noticed that Jeannie's car was still in the driveway. They must have still been home. Maybe she wanted the kids to take a nap before they began their journey? As he meandered up the front steps he felt incredibly tired, as if his body had been put through the wringer and beaten by some unseen assailant. He felt weakness throughout his bones and he longed to settle down into his bed and pillow while wrapping his arms around his wife.

The front door was locked tight and he mindlessly stuck the key in the latch, then pushed it open. The house was astoundingly quiet. The kind of quiet that is found in cemeteries and funeral homes, that is only broken by the weeping of mourners. The kind of quiet that is so earth shatteringly loud that it stirs the soul and haunts memories. Completely unforgettable and utterly barren. He immediately glanced up the stairs in hopes that he would see or hear one of his children run from their bedroom or slam a door. He wanted so desperately to hear his wife chastising an infraction in that special tone, that only women garner after they earn the title of mother.

At first, he couldn't make out the misshapen image that was down the hallway and sticking out past the kitchen doorframe. "Jeannie," he called out into the silence, then listened for a second, waiting…hoping for anything. Then his legs began to move and the further he walked down the hall, the more he realized that he was looking at a pair of bare feet sticking out into the kitchen floor.

As he rounded the doorjamb, his hand immediately grabbed for the wall to steady himself. She was lying in a graceless position with her back slouching against a cabinet and her legs stretched out in front of her with her toes pointing to the ceiling. Her hands were folded in her lap, and up and down her forearms were little scratches of varying depths. Some of the deeper ones still trickling little streams of blood onto her cream colored, floral print skirt. Her eyes were glazed over, almost to the point that he thought she was dead, and fixed to a point in the floor just beyond her feet.

"Jeannie," he said breathlessly as he fell to his knees in front of her and put his hands on her legs. "What happened?"

Her eyebrows rose and her mouth formed an "O" as she took in a small breath, but her gaze never moved. For a moment it seemed like she was trying to say something, but nothing came out, but a small, high-pitched moan.

"Jeannie." He moved closer to her and clamped both of his hands roughly against her face. "Look at me baby. What happened? Where did all of these scratches come from?"

Finally her eyes met his, and she seemed to perk up, if only slightly. She gave him a sleepy smile, with half lidded eyes. "Jack… you're here? Are you really here? I've been havin' dreams that you were home, but when I woke up you were gone." Her face then went lifeless again, completely void of emotion, and her eyes traveled to the ceiling, and stayed there as if she were made of stone and cemented into place.

"Please, Jeannie." His voice became scratchy and rumbled around in his throat like broken glass. "Where are the kids?"

The muscles around her mouth began to contract and her eyes became round, as if she were looking into the abyss of hell. Then, just as quickly as it had gone to horror, her face smoothed and looked again to be peaceful as if she were floating in the warmth of a pleasant dream. "I'm so tired… so, so tired. Can we just go home now, Jack?"

"This is home, baby." He tried to keep his tone calm and soothing, but there was an edge in his voice, and radiating from his eyes that made her tense up as if she were expecting him to smack her.

"No…home, home. I want to go back to the Bowery. Oh, Jack, don't you remember how happy we were there? Right after we got married, before Patrick died? I want it to be like that again."

"You aren't making sense," he said. "Please tell me where the kids are, honey."

Her eyes narrowed and her brow creased in confusion as she changed subjects abruptly. "Jack, did you fix the door? Those men… those men broke it. THEY DID!" She spat out indignantly as though he were arguing with her. "Did you fix it yet?"

He gritted his teeth then wrapped his large hands around her tiny shoulders and squeezed them so tightly that he half- anticipated popping her arms out of socket. "Jeannie!" He gave her a hard shake and her head cracked against the cabinet. That's what you were supposed to do when someone was in a stupor? Shake them? Try to snap them out of it? "Focus on me. Focus on what I am asking. Please! Where are the kids?! Where are they?!"

Her eyes never moved from the ceiling as her bottom lip quivered and she made small whimpers. Unexpectedly, her hands sprung forward and she grabbed for his shirt, twisting its material between her fingers. "Oh, God! Oh, Jack…those men! Those men were going to take my babies! THEY TRIED TO TAKE MY BABIES! I wouldn't let them! NO! NO! NO! They couldn't take my babies! I had to stop them! I had to protect my babies."

A small, trembling gasp escaped between his teeth as he jumped to his feet and stared at her, trying to understand her nonsense. What happened to her? When he left his home everything was fine. They were planning their new life in Florida? Something had gone terribly wrong. Something that left his wife a shuddering, incoherent heap on the kitchen floor. The panic started at the base of his spine and charged throughout every nerve ending. It was all consuming and made his stomach twist, and tug, and slam against his diaphragm as he tried to take in a breath.

His legs were moving and he was sprinting for the steps, before he was aware of what he was doing. He clambered up the stairs with such speed that he tripped and bumbled over his feet, and landed on the second floor with a giant thud. He hastily picked himself up, then went to frantically hunting for his children from room to room, searching in closets and under beds, praying that they were hiding from whatever Jeannie had been rambling about.

Finally, he came to Heather's room, and before he could open the door a breathtaking sense of dread filled his body and a pain so horrendous shot up his left side, that it caused him to fall to his knees and cry out in pain. Somehow he knew what lied behind this door. It felt as if he had been in this scene before. Like he was somewhere else remembering this very moment, over and over again. He sensed that he was on an endless loop, doomed to forever fish through memories and piece them together in a chaotic patch work of what might be genuine. Always trying to make sense of reality. Forever tortured.

And, he hoped that this was not real. He yearned for this to be something that was just invented in a fevered mind.

He tried to lift his hands, but they suddenly felt as if they were manacled down to something heavy, that left him immobile. He closed his eyes and willed himself to wake up. This was just a dream.

A horrible nightmare.

_WAKE UP! WAKE UP NOW, YOU FOOL! Don't put __**us**__ through this again…_

… _not again!_

_I can't._

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times through hot tears that were rimming around his eyes. The paralysis passed as quickly as it came over him, and he suddenly regained control of his hands. With shaking knees he stood to his feet and sucked in a sharp breath. The skin on his fingertips seemed to be tingling as he reached for the knob tentatively and gave it a swift turn, just to unlatch it. He cleared his throat then placed his hand flat against the door and gave it a gentle shove. As his eyes focused into his daughter's room, he heard someone scream. Scream no, scream to God, scream for help, scream not my children, not my babies. And, it was only as he raced across the room, that he realized that he was the one who was screaming.

Heather and Sullivan were face down on the bed, but Maggie was on her back with her eyes open and trained on the ceiling. Her skin was grey and her black curls floated away from her face as Jack picked her up. She was so tiny, yet felt so heavy in his hands. He never knew the true meaning of the phrase 'dead weight', until he held the corpse of his toddler in his hands. He pressed her against his chest and buried his face into her hair, then closed her eyes. He sat there cradling her for a long time, rocking her back and forth, and weeping. He couldn't stop weeping.

He put her down, and turned Sullivan over onto his back, then did the same to Heather. He held them each firmly, but gently as if they were still breathing. As if they were only sleeping and he was preparing to carry them off to their beds. It was the feeling of their bones and their cold skin the reminded him that all of his children were dead. He rubbed their faces and their shoulders and their arms, and their legs, as if he might warm them up enough for their blood to again flow, and they would open their eyes and be once more full of life. He kissed their faces over and over again, and laid his body across theirs as he continued to wail and sob in emotional agony.

He dropped down to his hands and knees and vomited until the muscles in his chest burned and felt like they might snap. His stomach and esophagus were stripped raw and left aching as he let out one last retch that carried with it an air bubbled that seemed to contain a piece of his chest.

He then held their hands one by one. "Please, please wake up," he whispered softly to them, in an effort to rouse them from their sleep. Any rational person would have known that this was all in vain, but now, Jack was nowhere near rational. It was then that he noticed Heather's hands. Her tiny delicate fingers that were lying across her stomach.

Her fingertips and nails were covered in blood.

And, then he realized what happened.

She did this.

And he again fell to his knees as another round of dry, disgusted heaves took him over.

The scratches up and down her arms… those came from Heather. Then the dark bruises around his children's necks came into focus. Oh, God. She strangled them. She strangled them, and as her hands were around Heather's little neck, his daughter fought back.

That must have meant that Sullivan was the first to go. Perhaps Heather walked in on the deed…no. He couldn't think about it. Had she walked in on her mother strangling her brother, then she would have ran away. And, that meant that Jeannie must have chased her.

Chased her own child down with the intent of killing her.

It was then that he noticed that Jeannie had followed him to the second floor and was standing outside the door with her back against the handrail. Her face was volleying back and forth between serenity and horror. It looked as if her mind would clear just long enough for her to become lucid, and the reality and the revulsion of what she had done would hit her square in the face, as she first looked at the scratches on her arms, then at the limp, pitiful bodies of her children, and her mind would again shut down. She couldn't take it… so she just melted down into insanity until her mind again unclouded.

It was while watching his wife, in her few moments of sanity, that he realized why she had pushed against family and friends so desperately. From the moment he met her, there was terror in her eyes. Terror that she turned into an aloof snobbery to keep everyone at arms distance. She was always afraid. Always. And, now he knew of what. She was afraid of what was inside of her. Just as her mother was afraid. It was a fear that she spoke about to her roommate in the basement of the Chicago Ballet. She didn't want to allow anyone too close to her because she was afraid of hurting them. She didn't want a husband or children… and this is why. She didn't want this to happen. She didn't want to be her mother. She knew what was within her, but he pushed her. He only cared about what he wanted. And, he pushed her to be what she was not…

…so he was just as guilty of murdering his children as she was.

As he watched her, watching him, he felt that the worst of this was that he loved her… still loved her. If he could have sacrificed his sanity to restore hers, he would have. He would have taken the beating heart from his chest to make her well again. She was his everything. She had helped him through the desperate moments in his life. There was the night that he'd had a dream that he was still at war, and there was an enemy with a gun to his head, and he'd woken up punching and shouting out in terror, only to accidentally hit her… she'd forgiven it and held him through the night until the left over fear and trembles had passed. She'd carried him through this desolate world. She kept him alive. He loved her more than himself…more than anything…anything…

…except his children.

But, he failed her. Failed his children. And, failed the home they had built together. He refused to see Jeannie for what she was. He ignored her problems and rejected the notion that her insanity was not her fault, and not something she could control. Or, some proof of her lack of moral fortitude. He always thought that she was just spoiled and weak… and unimaginably stubborn, but now he grasped that he was the obstinate one.

Not seeing what was before his eyes because it was too hard to imagine. He refused to see it because if she actually were the other half of his whole, his one true love, his soul mate… and she were actually insane, then what did that say about him? What indication was that of his sanity or moral fortitude? His weakness?

So he abandoned her. Oh, maybe not completely, but he tried his best to avoid the obvious. He left her. Left his children. And, allowed her mind to destroy itself and his family. He simply ignored all of the signs. He did it before she slit her wrists and he did it now.

**...**

**He remembered when they still lived in The Bowery, **Sullivan sat at the kitchen table doing homework and Jack sat across from him eating a sandwich. Sullivan abruptly looked up and regarded his father with a wrinkled brow.

"Is the old man in 2B really a spy?"

Jack stopped mid-chew and swallowed down too big of a bite, that caused him to cough as he began to laugh. "No…where on earth would you get an idea like that?"

Sullivan's face reddened in embarrassment. "That's what Mom says. She says that he is spying on her."

Jack tilted his head to the side, then his lips tipped up into a noncommittal smile. "Your mother is just playing around with you."

**...**

**Jeannie became convinced that **Jack was having an affair. She cornered him one morning while he was in the shower, holding up a bra that belonged to her, and claiming that she'd found it folded up in his suit jacket.

"That belongs to you, Jeannie!" he shouted at her, turning off the water and wrapping a towel around his waist.

"Bullshit! Don't you think I know what my own underwear looks like?" She threw it at him. "Who is she? Is she pretty? Where did you meet her? Do you love her?"

"There is nobody else! _**'HER'**_ doesn't exist!"

She folded her arms and tapped her foot. "You are tryin' to drive me crazy, aren't you? Or, maybe you are goin' to kill me, dump my body in the bay, and move her into this apartment and let her play mommy to our kids."

He grabbed her elbows and held her tightly. "This is all in your head, Jeannie. I have no one else."

**...**

**He spoke to a priest about Jeannie's behavior.** "I think my wife might be ill. I don't want to take her to a shrink, though. Shrinks are only for crazy people, right? And, Jeannie isn't crazy."

"Does your family go to church regularly?"

**...**

**He knelt down in front of her, one night, with his hands folded** in her lap in a praying position.

"What don't I do for you? What is wrong? What do you want that I don't give you? What can I give you to make you happy?"

"I am happy, sweetheart." She ran her fingers through his hair.

"That isn't true. Tell me what you need, and I will do it. Just tell me."

"I'm tellin' you that I am happy."

He looked up to her with tears in his eyes. "You cry all of the time… you are either crying and sleeping or too happy and never sitting down. Doesn't your mother have these same problems?"

Her nose curled and she pushed him away. "I'm done talkin' about this."

She slit her wrists two days later.

**...**

**Three weeks ago- before finding his dead children- he came home a little early** and discovered Heather running through the front sprinklers. He sat on the front stoop, smoking a cigarette and watching his precocious girl laughing and playing. After a long while, she walked up to him and sat down next to him. She stayed quiet for a few moments then laid her head on his shoulder. "Y'know Daddy, I'm glad you are comin' home now."

He smiled and wrapped his arm around her. "Yeah? Why's that? You miss me?"

She nodded her head then looked thoughtfully up to him. "Yes, and Mommy doesn't say the funny things when you are around."

He looked at her enquiringly. "What funny things does Mommy say?"

Heather shrugged and looked away as if she were betraying her Mother's trust. "Oh, I don't know. Just funny things."

"Funny things that make you smile and laugh?"

"Funny things that make me scared."

**...**

**She told him it was an appointment** with her obstetrician and that they would get to hear the baby's heartbeat. Maybe if the baby was lying right the doctor would be able to tell if it was a boy or a girl.

She lied to him.

Made him feel like fool inside of a psychiatrist's office.

The psychiatrist told him that his wife was ill… a schizophrenic with depression… and would need to be on antipsychotic medication.

She told Jack that she was hearing voices.

He told Jeannie that he wished she was dead.

**...**

Jack watched as her face again became completely peaceful, and her body swayed against the handrail. Oh, God, how he loved her. Loved her so much that his body was consumed with despair at the thought of what would happen to her. She would be locked away. Locked away in that asylum that was being renovated…Arkham Asylum. She would be shipped out by ferryboat to that horrible island and left to rot in its new state-of-the-art intensive treatment ward, that he had read so many great things about. He couldn't stand the thoughts of seeing her in a cell… a little cell with a little barred window on the door.

He sat on the floor next to the bed where his children lied, with his hands covering his face as he cried. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, but his mind could not stop replaying his life with Jeannie. Meeting her at the Gotham Plaza Hotel, bumping into her on her front steps, becoming her bodyguard, watching her dance in the sand, watching her dance on stage, falling for her, losing her, getting her back, marrying her… always…always loving her. He could see so vividly how she looked while she was pregnant with all of his children. How she would put her hand on her bulging stomach, pat it lightly, and say with a smile, "I think this is a keeper!" He could still feel the soft skin of his newborn babies. How light they felt in his giant hands. How proud he felt at every milestone: first smile, sitting up, crawling, pulling up, walking, talking…on and on the list of moments that would forever be etched into his heart went, until it began to run off into the things that he would never do: take Sully to t-ball games, watch Heather's first ballet recital, hear Maggie say her first real words, teach his children how to drive, walk his daughters down the aisle, hold his grandchildren.

He looked up to see his two oldest children's legs dangling lifelessly beside him and he turned to Jeannie. As he looked at her all he could see was the terror that must have been on his children's faces as she wrapped her hands around their necks. How could a mother do that? How could she have pressed her fingers into their flesh and felt the muscles of their neck contract and contort as they struggled for breath?

How?

Did they scream? Did they beg for her to stop?

His eyes filled with images of little Maggie looking up into the sky in a frozen gaze. She watched her mother kill her. The little, precious baby knew that her mother, the person who was meant to protect her, was suffocating her. None of his children would've understood, but especially not a child that was barely over a year old… still a baby who struggled to keep her balance if she had to make too far of a walk.

He gave Jeannie another glance and thought: _You cruel, heartless, crazy bitch._

Then he heard it. It started as a little chuckle, and then became an all-out, roaring laugh. And, it was coming from his wife. She was laughing so hard that she was holding her stomach and bent over with tears rolling down her face. Tears from laughing so hard at first, then tears of sadness as she looked at her husband sitting, heaped in the floor next to his three dead children. Her face crumbled and she suddenly looked so afraid and so, so utterly alone.

As she always looked; there had always been a part of her that was desperately alone.

As he stood to his feet, his legs tingled as if he were being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles. "You think this is funny?" he spat out, as his knees wobbled. "You killed our children and you think this is funny?!"

She shook her head. "No…no, of course I don't. But you know me. I always laugh when I shouldn't." And, then it started again, the insane laughter that quaked throughout her entire body as she realized the sound and sight of her front door being kicked open was all in her head. When she thought she was witnessing men ripping at her daughters and beating her son, she was only witnessing some nightmare that her sick mind was projecting. When she thought she was choking her children's attackers, it was their throats that her hands had been around. She just couldn't stop laughing. She laughed and laughed and all she wanted was for it to stop.

She wanted to stop laughing…stop breathing…stop hurting.

She wanted everything to just stop.

He would never be sure of what happened next. But, somehow his feet began to move, and he tore towards her with the intent of strangling her just like she had their children. But, instead as his hand grasped for her throat he missed…

… and he pushed her.

He didn't even realize what had happened until he heard the gut-wrenching thud of her body crashing down against the handrail, then bouncing off of it before landing face down onto the hard wooden floor below. At first he couldn't move. He could only stand there with his hands gripped around the handrail, staring gravely at the crumbled form of his wife. This couldn't possibly be real.

_I told you to wake up before it was too late._

She looked like a little rag doll that had been carelessly tossed aside by a child. Then, as if he were punched in the gut, reality unfurled before him and he realized that this was actually happening. He had actually put his hand onto her chest and pushed her. He truly didn't mean to hurt her. It…it just happened. He was so enraged and anguished that it'd happened before he could stop himself. He raced down to her side and put his head in his hands as he knelt beside her.

"Oh, God, no! What have I done? What have I done? Please, no! NO!" His voice quivered so violently that he didn't even recognize it.

He put his hand against her back, hoping to feel the rise and fall of a breath, but there was nothing. Her eyes were open, but void of all light and fixed into nothingness. There were small trickles of blood coming from her nose, and mouth, and ears and pooling onto the beautifully polished floor. And she… his love… his sanity… the one thing that kept Jack Napier, Jack Napier was dead.

She was dead.

Dead… and it was his fault.

By ignoring her need for help, he killed his children.

And, he killed his wife.

His family was gone.

His reason for living was gone.

Crown Pointe Estates had not been designed to accommodate tragedy. Only happy things happened in this suburb. Only happy successful people called it home. The street lights had been placed so that, even at night, there were no lumbering shadows or frightening silhouettes. Street after street were utopias of bright white, brick, and pastel colored houses, whose curtains were always left open so anyone passing by could see the picture-perfect families inside. Floodlights were trained on front doors to proudly display the flawless homes and well-maintained lawns. Children in crisp uniforms filed on and off of school buses at unsupervised street corners. Wives didn't nag and husbands were always faithful. Everything about this little neighborhood was invincibly cheerful. And, this was especially true of Viscksburg Street. _Nothing bad happens on this street._

So a man on his knees, sniffling and begging to God, as he ran his hands over the back and through the hair of his dead wife was indecently out of place.

The longer he stayed there beside her, the more he wondered if he too were dead, and just didn't realize it yet. Could that be it? Could he be that lucky? Did he even want to go on living? He wasn't sure. What was there to live for? Everything that ever meant anything to him was gone. What was he to do? Where would he go? At some point he decided to try to move, but his body was frozen in place. The simple act of raising his head up caused him to become dizzy and forced him to stay still.

He kissed her face and wove his fingers through her hair. That morning in The Bowery, she had lain at an awkward position on her stomach, so that she wouldn't be fully on top of the baby, and she stared at him as if she were seeing a stranger curled up next to her; someone that she couldn't be sure if they were friend or foe. Her dead eyes looked at him the same way now. _How could you do this to me? How could you let this happen? You could have saved them. You could have saved me. Why?_

"I'm sorry I did this to you," He whispered into her hair as he kissed the top of her head, then smoothed a few loose tendrils from her face and looked into her cool, blue eyes. "I'm sorry I drove you to this. I'm so, so sorry. I hope you know that I love you… and always will. This wasn't your fault."

He suddenly became very aware of the smell of the floor polish she had used the day before and it's caustic, clinical smell. Why, oh, why did she insist upon using that brand? It reminded him of hospitals… or mental institutions.

Finally, he managed to sit up and his body quaked as he settled back onto his feet. He closed his eyes and for a split second, and as they fluttered back open, he was hit in the face by a blinding light eclipsing before him… like exam room lights. Again, his arms felt bound, and there were sounds all around him. Sounds that shouldn't be in a house…especially in a house that was only filled with the bodies of the dead.

There were voices and movement… lots of movement.

**"Doctor…he is beginning to wake up... what should I do?"**

**"Give him another dose of sedatives until we can examine him more thoroughly."**

**"Doctor? He's had several doses already…"**

**"Yes, but he is significantly more dangerous when injured. What have you found so far?"**

**"The left side of his abdomen seems to be distended and very tender to the touch. He is wincing in his sleep every time I've put pressure on it."**

**"I'll order an x-ray." **

**"Oh…oh, there are tears in his eyes… he is in pain. Should we give him pain medication?"**

**"The sedatives will be all he needs."**

**"Uh….Yes, Doctor."**

**"And, nurse… I believe a window has been left open somewhere… there have been black houseflies all over the medical facility."**

Jack felt a sharp pain in his arm, and the voices, and sounds, and movements were gone. And, he was again back in his home that was as silent as a tomb. So silent that he could hear the faint sounds of the neighbor's television broadcasting some obnoxious cartoon that their children had turned up too loudly. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and cried out as the crippling pain of anguish and despair welled inside of his chest.

Was this what madness felt like? Your mind racing from one thought to the next… never knowing for sure what was real and what was not? Hearing sounds that shouldn't be there? Feeling sensations from unknown sources? Specters filling up the corners of your brain, clicking across it and wrenching loose its cables and rewiring it on a whim?

Is this how Jeannie felt?

How could he have allowed her to feel this way?

Why didn't he see it and try to stop it?

There were just too many questions and too many answers that were astonishingly too late.

He gave her one last kiss atop her head, closed her eyes gently, then shakily rose to his feet and began to wander aimlessly around his perfect house that held his perfect family that was now becoming stiff with rigor mortis. How could they be dead? The house still felt so alive with the sound of his wife and sense of his children. A few toys were scattered across the living room floor, he remembered seeing packed bags on the second floor. His family was everywhere. Their presence was as real as the sorrow that had buried itself and set up residence in his gut. He opened doors only to shut them again, turned on lights just to turn them off. He began to rifle through the cabinets in the kitchen for no reason. Her ghost must have been hiding somewhere, and maybe if he found it she would somehow come back to life and walk into the kitchen and start making lunch for her family, and give him her so familiar what-the-hell- is –your problem look. He loathed the arguments they had, but now he wanted so badly to pick a fight with her so he could see her cross her arms and tap her foot in annoyance one last time. He would have given anything to hear her ridiculous, contrived southern accent again.

He needed a little piece of her to still be alive and with him.

He sat at the kitchen table for at least an hour with his head down and his fingers in his hair remembering their family meals. Even the tense ones would have been welcomed in this moment. He then wandered past his wife's dead body, back up the stairs to the second floor, where he stood in the doorway of Heather's bedroom staring at his children and recreating the scene of pushing his wife to her death. For a split second his heart lurched into his throat and he felt sheer joy when he thought that he saw Sullivan's chest move. But, no… it was just a cruel trick being played on him by his mind.

Exhaustion ran through his veins and he slid down the doorframe until he was sitting on the cold floor. He wanted so badly to cry, but all of his tears were gone. This house was supposed to be the answer… a place full of joy, where his family could grow and thrive. Live out lovely lives amongst manicured grass and freshly painted walls. But, it was all a terrible gag. This house was nothing more than a morgue holding his dead dreams.

He nodded off for a moment and when he woke he allowed his mind to indulge in the cruel delusion that this had all been a nightmare. When he looked at his children they would simply be napping, and Jeannie would be curled up on the couch or scurrying around downstairs. He managed his way up to his feet, yet again, and took a long look at his children's pale bodies strewn across the bed. He could only shake his head as he closed the door. He couldn't stand looking anymore.

Somehow he found himself inside the bedroom that he shared with his wife. How he hated this room when they moved in. For someone who moved into this house so begrudgingly, she sure did have a lot of ideas for it. "I think the walls should be off-white," she said. "And, I like the bedspread with the yellow flowers."

What the hell was the difference in off-white and white, anyway?

He walked into her closet and sat down amongst her clothes. The smell of her was all around him and was as tangible as if she had been sitting alongside him. His heart sank as he noticed the box laying on the floor with **MATERNITY**, written across it in big black letters. It then hit him that the child she was carrying was gone now too. Many of their hopes were placed on that tiny, growing child. It was all so sad. So unimaginably sad. He found himself lying in a ball and pressing the dress that she wore on their wedding day against his chest, as his tears began to flow again. He thought they were gone, but now they refused to stop. He was destroyed.

"Goddamn you, Jeannie. Goddamn you for doing this to us."

He spent another hour looking through a box of pictures that she had hidden at the back of her closet. Pictures that she never wanted her children to find, but were too fun to destroy. There was one of her holding a bottle of alcohol in one hand and pointing to a sign that read: BOURBON STEET, with the other. Then another picture that he had taken of her lying on the beach at her parent's house with her bikini top off and a devilish grin across her pretty pink lips. And, finally he came to a picture of them that he knew too well. He had a copy of it in his wallet, and she once had a copy of it fastened to her mirror at the Chicago Ballet. They looked so happy together at a charity benefit when they were in the infancy of their relationship. He was whispering something in her ear, and her mouth was opened into a large smile as she was beginning to laugh.

He didn't even know that girl.

That wasn't the same girl who was now dead one floor below him.

The girl in that picture looked so hopeful and optimistic. She loved him…that was obvious. Oh, how he missed her.

Never in his wildest dreams, as he bent in close to her and whispered something completely inappropriate in her ear, did he imagine that they would end up like this. He remembered how loud she laughed, then she gave him a light, chastising slap across his chest. Then he smiled at her, gave her a quick kiss and told her he loved her. He'd told her so many times before that he loved her, but he was normally met with a coy smile and a conceited, "I know." But, this night he remembered her backing away from him, ever-so- slightly, and her lips pulling down into a frown. She then cocked her head to the side as one corner of her mouth bent into a disbelieving, hesitant smile and she said, "I love you, too."

He knew then that their love was a real one, not immature and overly romanticized like the one he had with Marybeth. What he felt for Jeannie was grown up, and true, and very, very deep. It was something that could withstand anything.

And, it did.

Even when he hated her, he loved her.

That was the part that made him feel the most insane. She killed his children, yet he still loved her. He took on all of the blame, and forgave her.

Somehow he crawled from the closet and onto their bed, where he sprawled out and considered shooting himself in the head or maybe just lying there until either Sal Valestra's men or the Red Hood Gang came for him. He wanted to die. There was no reason to go on living. Then, he suddenly felt very sorry for his ill-fated ballerina. He had lost everything; he had a reason to want to be dead. But, Jeannie, she had everything, yet she wanted to end her life. How confusing that must have been for her. How sick she must have been. How alone she must have felt to have a husband who just wouldn't see it.

Her voice began to ring so clearly in his head that he almost looked up to see if she was standing in the doorway. "Get up, Jack. I gave up my dreams to be with you. I gave you my life. I have sacrificed too much for you to die here along with us. You've got to get up."

He wanted to listen to her, but he couldn't. He had nothing left…no motivation… no wherewithal… the universe had pulled once last great joke on, Jack Napier and left him flat on his back. Still her voice seemed to be prodding him to go forward, that this wasn't the end for him. He shook his head and covered his face with a pillow in an effort to drown it out and ignore it. He remained on his back until the sun set and darkness choked out every bit of the light in the room.

In the darkness he felt an overwhelming rage with God surge through him. Never in his life had he been so angry. He couldn't stay like this a moment longer. He either had to put the barrel of his pistol in his mouth, or he had to leave. His skin tingled as she sat up, and stood too his feet. Before he could stop himself, he sent a punch into the wall…then another… and another… until blood began to seep from his knuckles.

He stood gazing down at his hand for a long while, then his eyes snapped to the window as he heard Todd Willis' car pull into his driveway. All of his neighbors would soon be coming home from their tedious jobs in the city, to enjoy the tranquility of their suburban, plastic, monochromatic lives.

Within a few hours Todd would be stumbling up Jack's driveway, pounding on the kitchen door, and begging Jack to go out to the garage to work on the car. The car the held the body of one of their neighbors in the trunk.

Jack decided right then that he couldn't be in that house any longer. He couldn't stand another moment of being in this overly puffed up toyland of fake houses and fake people with fake smiles.

Now, he saw what Jeannie couldn't stand about Crown Pointe… he had to get out.

And, there was nowhere else to go, but the Ace Chemical Plant. The thoughts of putting that red dome of a helmet over his head felt almost comforting. It would be something familiar. _Something that offered him no surprises._

He wiped his eyes, straightened his tie….

And, he went to work.

* * *

><p><strong>So, let's debrief. Thank you for reading this long, hard chapter. I know that it probably wasn't the easiest thing to read. Believe me; it was not easy to write. I have never had such a visceral reaction to writing anything in my life. I literally cried through most of the process. It is very difficult to kill characters that you care about. <strong>

**I know that some of you may hate me right now…and that is okay. I believe my job as a writer is to make you feel things, even if they are bad things. I recently read a trilogy of books that are very popular right now. ( There has been one movie made thus far about those books…hint…hint!) I loved the books, but when I came to the end of the trilogy, I was very disappointed. It wasn't a bad ending, but not the best for such an action packed series of books. I felt a little cheated that I had spent so much time reading this authors work, and she didn't give me a better finale. It felt like the author ran out of ideas for her characters and just stopped. I know several others who have felt the same way. **

**I didn't want to leave you all feeling that way. I have been writing this story for a year and a half, and many of you have been reading it for that long. I didn't want you to feel like you have wasted your time. I wanted to give you something that startled you a bit and made you feel something. I hope that I achieved that. Even though this is not the last chapter (its next to the last), it is the last in which we will deal with any members of the Napier family, other than Jack. So it does feel kind of final for me. It hurts my heart very much to even post it.**

**So thank you all, for reading! We have one chapter and a short-ish epilogue to go… so get excited! You've reached the bitter end, my friends! The story is completed and sitting in a word document on my computer. I hope you have enjoyed, I have certainly enjoyed writing it and I do it all for you! **

**See you again next week (probably, unless I do some more editing). Take care until then!**

**And, P.S.- EthanFlux is writing his second installment of his Joker origin story, Joker 2: Gotham's Red Knight. I enjoy it very much, and I know you will too! So please go check it out, and give EthanFlux some support!  
><strong>


	25. Chapter 24

First, let me apologize to you all! I wanted to have this chapter up a long time ago, but literally everything that could happen did. At one point my computer even crashed, and I lost all of my work… all of it!

So, thank you to everyone who read the last chapter! A big thanks to: Han, Djwignall, NibbytheHedgehog, Gideon Moriattis, EthanFlux, Nicki, and kendramccormick for reviewing the last chapter! You guys are amazing and I hope you will forgive the long wait. And, a big thank you to all of you who have favorited and alerted this story, as well!

So, here we are, we've come to the end. Yes, I am kind of depressed, but looking forward to new projects. There is still an epilogue left and I promise all lose ends will be tied up- so please don't fret. I've had a few people ask me about a sequel, and honestly I am game to do it, but it is really up to you guys if you want more. I have a rough outline and I am building the concept, but I would really like to know if you all want a sequel, or if you just want me to leave it alone. That's probably something you will be more suited to answer after the epilogue!

Thank you again for all of your support all the way through. Please, enjoy your ending!

* * *

><p>"<strong>All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day…"<strong>

**-The Joker, The Killing Joke**

**Chapter 24-**

"_It's a rainy night here in Gotham," _The worn, heavy voice of local weatherman, Skip Goyforth, crackled from the radio as a few fat raindrops began to spit against the windshield, faster and faster. _"Expect the occasional downpour and thunderstorm…"_ A quick, brittle hiss of static cut through the air then dissolved into silence as Jack tuned off the ignition and sat back in his seat in the small overflow lot on the North side of the chemical plant. It was a safe place to hide his car while carrying out the robbery. It was down a little hill, tucked into some trees, and had all but been forgotten about…

The perfect place for a quick escape…

There was an underwhelming numbness creeping through Jack's veins. He expected to feel something… sadness….despair…rage… devastation… anything…anything at all to let him know that he was still alive. Everything he ever loved, or worked for, or valued was gone. Meaningless… he should be feeling something. But… there was just empty, hallow space. He became so frustrated that he slammed his hands around the steering wheel, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles grew white, while he let out a guttural cry of despair.

Hopeless…

Rudderless…

There was nothing left for him. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't very well go on trying to live a normal life. His ballerina… his Jeannie… she murdered his children, destroyed his life… she put her hands around their little throats and choked the life out of them, one by one. And... he… he pushed her… pushed his pregnant wife to her death. There was no recovering from that.

He had never felt so forsaken.

He only wanted to go back. To be happy, again. To not be left alone. To have the old days back- before he worked too much, drank too much, before she woke up one morning and the world seemed too bright, too loud, too cold, too desperate.

He closed his eyes and laid his head against the cool glass of the window. It was a night like this when he had come home after a terrible day, close to midnight, to find Jeannie sitting on the couch with a calendar and newspaper spread across the coffee table in front of her. He could see so clearly, in his mind, the way she sat there fidgeting with her hair, in her old polka-dot bathrobe that smelled of lavender and Jeannie.

They only had two children at the time… a girl and a boy- the ideal family, and they had moved from their Bowery Apartment to a small townhouse with drab exposed-brick walls, in a marginally better part of Gotham. There were still plenty of break-ins by petty thieves and prostitutes littering the sidewalks, but it wasn't The Bowery. Jeannie, of course, hated it and complained every day, but she hated The Bowery, too. This townhouse was the lesser of two evils- or at least that is how Jack liked to describe it. They had been living there for barely two months, yet Jeannie was already planning their escape… and Jack was certain that she had landed upon their perfect next home as she stood up, gave him a tentative smile, and began to pick at the material around the waist of her nightgown as he entered the living room.

"What is it?" Jack said a little too gruffly in anticipation, as he threw his jacket over the back of a chair and kept his eyes cemented firmly to her.

"Why do you just assume that it is somethin'?"

"Well, isn't it?"

"No." She put her hands on her hips in outrage, then slowly let them fall to her side with a little bounce of her shoulders. "Well… yes… it is…I suppose."

Jack's eyebrows rose as he plopped down in the chair, then slouched so deeply that it looked like he might tumble into the floor. "Can't this wait? It's been a long day, Jeannie."

"I'm sure it has been, but this is important." She returned to her seat on the couch and scooted to the very edge. Her eyes volleyed between the calendar and the newspaper as if she were trying to decide where to start. She stopped on the newspaper and gave herself a reassuring, half-hearted nod. Then she forced her expression to change to one that conveyed exciting, new beginnings. "I… I think I might have found you a new job."

"Jesus Christ." Jack put his hand on his forehead and moved his fingers inward until he was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why?"

"No…don't start…just listen…." She placed her hands flat against the coffee table in an attempt to punctuate just how significant this opportunity was. "This is a good job. The Ace Chemical Company is lookin' for lab technicians."

He looked up slowly and made a disgusted grunt. "I don't think my skills set qualify me for that job."

"Will you just listen to me, please!" Her voice rose to an octave that made Jack grit his teeth. "There is no experience required, you only need to be a high school graduate… its Monday through Friday… eight to five! Helen always talks about how much you liked chemistry in high school and how well you did. Maybe this is your chance to do somethin' that you really want to do."

Jack slammed his hands against his knees, then stood abruptly and began to pace the floor in agitation. "Helen is a crazy old woman. It wouldn't surprise me if her cancer has gone to her brain." His tone dripped of sarcasm and he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

Jeannie sat back and crossed her arms over her waist. Seeing Jack disintegrate before her eyes should have been alarming, but the only thing she could see was how similar Jack and Sullivan looked before they threw tantrums. Their faces would grow red, they would talk through gritted teeth, and their steps would turn into deliberate stomps. It was almost funny to watch and she felt a little tickle of a laugh scratch at the back of her throat, but before she allowed it to escape she coughed and said, "Why are you actin' like a child?"

He stopped mid-stride and gave her a drop-dead scowl with intense, burning eyes. "It has been a long, tough day, Jeannie. All I wanted to do was come to my home and relax… why can't I just be left alone… why can't I walk through the door without my wife telling me what I should be doing! Why?!" he shouted while waving his arms in anger- another similarity between he and his son. He looked like a man so racked with frustration and stress that he could have sat in the floor and began to sob. "Why can't you just leave things be…we are finally getting our footing… why can't you just be happy. It's not like you've had a hard day's work ever!"

Her nostrils flared and she began to tap her foot- now it was her turn to work up a tantrum. She wanted to scream at him: _You think takin' care of this house isn't hard work? Takin' care of our children? What would you know about hard work? It's not like you're ever home… how could you possibly understand? _But, she decided to be more prudent and simply straightened her neck, smoothed her hair behind her ears and began to play upon his sympathies. "Jack I need you to be home more. The kids miss you… I miss you. Don't you want to be with us?"

His jaw shifted and he shoved his hands in his pockets. This was one of her best and most effective tactics when trying to win an argument. She knew that his heart was putty in her hands, and taking full advantage of that was something that she made standard practice of every time the opportunity presented itself. With the right wording and the right facial expressions she could get whatever she wanted out of him.

She then took a deep breath as a little, nervous, coquettish smile pricked at her lips. "I need you home more often because…because…because I think I might be pregnant." She added the words "I think" for his benefit alone. There was no doubt about it, she was pregnant and she had known it for a while. Jeannie always had very distinct signs of pregnancy: odd food cravings, such as pickles and ice cream, morning sickness, feeling exhausted after doing something as simple as sitting up in bed- this time was no different. She was just keeping it to herself. Maybe if she ignored it, it would go away.

No such luck.

"What?" He whimpered pathetically and his entire face dropped, making him look years older than his age. "I…I thought we said we were stopping with two."

"We did." She shrugged. "But, things change. You're not happy?"

His shoulders fell forward. It wasn't that he wasn't happy to hear the news of another of his impending offspring, but his life was just so unprepared. He wanted lots of children, but he wanted them somewhere stable- not Gotham. Not somewhere that he made sure to check the locks three times before he went to bed. If they were living in a good suburb…well, then he would be over joyed. They would be safe there. Nothing bad could happen to them in a safe place like, suburbia. "Of course I am happy… I just thought we were finished, that's all. Don't we have enough to worry about with the two we have? I mean, we barely make ends meet now."

"What would you have me do about it, Jack? I'm pregnant… there isn't anything I am willin' to do to change that."

Jack ambled across the room and sat down next to his wife, then placed his hand on her knee. "How did this happen? We've tried to be careful…when?"

She looked down at the calendar that was lying next to the newspaper. "Well, I've tried to count back the weeks and I guess that weekend in September, when we left the kids with Frankie and Tonya."

"Goddammit," he huffed then once again took on the position of a man who was on his deathbed.

She turned to him, keeping her eyes cast to the floor. She didn't bring this up to him to start an argument… she didn't want to fight, she simply needed her husband… and she needed him to understand that his presence was vital to the delicate balance of their home. Of her sanity. "Jack, I want you home more. Somethin' just doesn't feel right… and…and I need you. I can't explain it; somethin' in me tells me that this baby is goin' to be a hard one."

He exhaled a rough, exhausted breath, then leaned forward to take a better look at the "wanted add." His eyes panned carefully over each word. She was right, this wasn't a bad job…actually, it seemed kind of fitting. Perfect, really. Like it had been created just for him. Then, just as he was beginning to cross over to her side, he came to the killer- the salary. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, and shook his head. "No… no this won't work. Do you understand how big of a pay cut this is? We would lose everything. We couldn't afford this townhouse anymore. We have another baby on the way… we just can't take the hit."

She began to nod in a, I've-already-thought-of-that manner, then she grabbed his hand with both of hers and gave it a hard squeeze. "I've done the math and, yes, we will have to move. I called Mrs. Burkiss today and… and our apartment is still available."

"Of course, it is…" Jack jerked his hand from hers and gave a quick tug at his tie to loosen it before it strangled him.

"Jack... we can do this. Do you really want to work for Sal for the rest of your life? You have no future there. You've hit the top, and when he is done with you, well, then you are goin' to find yourself at the bottom of the bay. Ace offers advancement… eventually you will climb the ladder. This is your chance, sweetheart. Take it!"

His forehead wrinkled and then he began to wring his hands with such friction that they became red and incredibly hot. He looked as if he were about to rattle apart right there in their living room. "I…g-guess I could at least go to an interview. See what it's all about."

Her face lightened and she ran her hand over his back. "Yes, at least give it a chance. This could be the start of a new life for us… new job… new baby… what could go wrong?"

"Really?" he said with a cynical laugh. "What could go wrong? Take your pick! We could not make rent and end up living in a box on the street… you and the kids could starve to death… and I could end up a crazy person. A whole hell of a lot could go wrong."

She put her hands on his face and gave him the sweetest, most reassuring smile that he had ever seen. "Oh, Jack… I have more faith in you than that."

As he felt her soft touch and watched her pretty blue eyes search his face, he never would have imagined that in less than two years he would be stumbling through a downpour towards the Ace Chemical Company with the intent of robbing it. Ace was a good employer and he enjoyed his job. Damn Jeannie for ruining it… damn her for ruining his life… his everything.

As he came to the fence separating Ace from the river, images of his children began to flash before his eyes. Images of them running through the backyard playing, sitting around the dinner table, sneaking into their parent's bed during a thunderstorm… then their cold, grey skin. The way their bodies lied limply across Heather's bed like oversized toys. The dark purple and black bruises around their tiny necks. Then, as he looked at his reflection in the water, being marred by drops of rain bouncing through its surface, he thought of Jeannie.

That woman… that broken, pathetic shell of a human being… that wasn't his wife.

Not his Jeannie.

His Jeannie wouldn't have hurt her children. She loved them… she fought for them… she was a mother, albeit an imperfect one.

He couldn't reconcile in his mind how he actually put his hand on her chest and pushed her. The feel of her skin still tingled across his fingertips and the sound of her little body hitting the ground rang in his ears. She looked so small and so broken as she lied there with blood trickling from her mouth and nose.

No… that wasn't his Jeannie…no… it couldn't have been.

His Jeannie was lost a long time ago…

And, what he found even more troubling was that he still worshiped her. In fact, the thoughts of losing her grieved him more than losing his children. She was the loss the stung the most. What they hell was wrong with him? Maybe it was because there was nothing he could do for his children. Nothing that happened to them was their fault. But, Jeannie, she was a different story. Her mental state was fixable… something could have been done.

There was still a chance for her.

His chest began to ache so fervently that he grabbed for the fence and twisted his fingers in its links before his knees could buckle. Just supporting his own weight seemed like an impossible task. How was he supposed to lead his partners through the labyrinth of corridors and crosswalks without being caught? This job seemed so easy just hours ago. A simple job with a big payout… but, now… but, now with what he had been through, with the knowledge that his entire family was gone…and cold…and dead…well… it seemed impossible.

Suicide…

"Napier!" A voice cut through the roar of rain. "You're here! Always so early. Hey! Hey, Napier! You with us?! C'mon, quit daydreaming!"

Jack forced his knees to straighten and he took in a deep breath as he felt the rain begin to soak through his clothes. This was it… this was the time he had been planning for. There was a hard shove to his shoulder that caused him to slip in the mud as he turned to find his two Red Hood cohorts standing in front of him, struggling to pull the all-too familiar red dome from it case.

"Are we doing this, or ain't we?" the taller of the two hissed as he shoved the mask into Jack's hands.

Jack regarded his reflection in its metallic surface and began to nod slowly. He didn't recognize himself. He normally saw Joseph Napier glaring back at him, but the man mirrored back at him now was a stranger… a shattered husk…

It was tragic…

"Yeah…yeah, of course." Jack swallowed, then bounced it up and down in his hands as if he were gauging its weight. He always felt so oppressed when he slipped it over his head. Everything became red… like blood… like the flames of hell. It almost seemed fitting. He was in hell… eternal torture… no escape… that was his life.

All he had ever known…

And, his angel… his saving grace…well, she had vanished…

"I don't know why, I'm doing this," he began, "my family… they're gone."

He expected a little sympathy. After all, he had been working with these two men for years. In an odd way, he considered them friends. They were more aware of the triumphs and tragedies in his life than most. They had listened to him vent his frustrations and fears about his wife. They had been given the news of every child. Hell, when Maggie was born, the shorter of the two men gave him a hundred bucks just to help him out.

So, when Jack was met with silence, and a firm slap on the back, accompanied with, "it could be worse," he was a little thrown off. Did they not understand the enormity of the word gone? How could everyone else in the world be going about their business as if everything was okay? The weatherman still reported, people were still leaving their jobs to go home to their families for the weekend, and these men who had known Jack for twelve years… there wasn't even a pause… not even a hiccup in the flow…

How was the world still going on as if everything was perfectly fine, when his life was so irrevocably shattered…

Where was the justice?

How was this fair?

Before he could protest or explain just how gone, gone was, the two other men were jumping the fence and sprinting towards building 706. Shit! No! This was happening so fast! He needed it to slow down… he needed a minute to think… to breathe.

"C'mon, Napier! We got to do this now! Now!"

Jack slung the mask over the fence and watched it roll across the grass, then followed. He barely had time to pick it up and wipe the few blades of sod from its surface before it was being ripped from his hands and shoved over his face. "Jeez, y'know… you got a funny shaped head."

The falling rain streaked down in front of his line of vision and everything became blurry and distorted. He couldn't even make it up the stairs leading into 706 without being pulled and pushed from his accomplices. It felt just like his first time under the hood; that night so long ago when he and Frankie were robbing the Gotham National Bank. He felt the same urgency and alarm. He felt clueless and klutzy... like a boy trying so hard to impress a girl. That's how this all started… she liked men with money, and this goddamned red fishbowl was his ticket to wealth. His only hope of catching her eye…

What a fool he was…

As his hands reached for the hard, steel doors, he closed his eyes and imagined that she was somewhere waiting for him. Just like the first night; she was waiting for him to show up to the Midtown Ballet. She had to be somewhere now, getting angry and tapping her toes, anticipating his arrival.

He was grasping at straws and this illusion… this spark of madness… it was the only way he was going to make it through the night.

As he pushed open the doors he was immediately met with a rush of scorching air that seeped up into the mask and carried with it the acrid smell of chemicals and heavy machinery. There was noise all-around of pumps and drains sending one batch of chemical waste to another holding tank then back again, and the occasional rush of steam breaking free from an exhaust.

_This was hell…_

Jack straightened his back and took in his surroundings for a moment, then with just as much confidence as a seasoned soldier leading troops into battle, he pointed his finger to a scaffold on the other side of two tanks. "Okay… we go past the filter tanks and up those stairs… the business office is just beyond a partition."

He had found his stride again amongst the familiarity of his red mask. There was something homey about it… and just for a moment he felt safety… security… maybe there was still a future for him… a new life…

…and that is when he heard it.

They were passing between the tanks as a voice rang out above the hisses, and clanks, and bangs, of building 706. "HEY YOU! FREEEEEZE!"

Jack's hand instinctively reached for his gun… but, it wasn't there. No…no…no… he must have left it home. How could he make such a stupid mistake? He knew better. This was not his first time. Now he was left with security guards, police officers, and two pissed off partners…

And, no protection…

"You asshole! You said there was no security!"

"There wasn't! Things must have been altered!" Jack shouted back in a panic. When he left Ace Chemical, security in building 706 was looked at as a waste of resources. Who would want the shit that floated around in those tanks? Obviously… things had changed. Just like everything else in Jack's life.

"Altered! I'm gonna alter your stupid horseface!"

Then there was a shot that echoed around inside of the helmet so loudly that Jack thought that his eardrums might burst. He grabbed at his head and tried to yank the mask off, but the left over droplets of rain had made it so slick that he couldn't get a grip on it. Then there was another shot and another. He couldn't see and he felt as though he was going deaf… there was nothing to do but run.

Then, all loyalty amongst thieves dissolved as he began to sprint, and he heard, "You guys don't want me… you want him… he's the ring-leader…he's the Red Hood," being shouted over the gun shots.

For a moment, he could hear footsteps behind him; if they belonged to his partners or security guards, he would never know and he really didn't care. The only thing that was important to him in that moment was getting the hell away from Ace Chemical. It wasn't until he reached the stairs leading to the scaffolds, and looked back over his shoulder, that he saw the two men that he had met for the first time inside The Bowery Tavern, years ago, lying bloody and dead several feet behind him.

He was alone in this now…

As he reached the top of the scaffolding the gun fire died down and he slowed his steps… maybe they lost track of him. Just for a moment he thought he might get away with it. He could hear some shouting, but it seemed very far away and nothing to concern himself with. He needed to catch his breath and get his bearings. If he wanted to get out of 706 alive, then he had to be thinking straight…

He heard it before he actually saw it. The monstrous thud through the streams of steam and wavy aura of heat. "Dear, God… what have you sent to punish me?" He blinked at it for a moment, trying to force his eyes to understand what was before him. Then it came into view… oh god… here it was. The urban legend… the thing that was whispered about amongst thugs on the street… the number one headline…

…the batman.

"No…no…no, this isn't happening! Wait! You don't want me. I'm no crook…" he again grabbed for the red mask, and this time had the luck to pull it halfway up…

What would happen next occurred so rapidly that there would always be confusion and mixed reports from the security guards who witnessed it…

"_He pushed the guy, I saw it! I saw it with my own two eyes…"_

"_No… he picked him up and threw him over the rail."_

"_The guy jumped…"_

"_No, he fell…"_

"_I didn't see a damn thing…"_

But, to Jack it happened so slowly that he would always remember the feel of the punch cracking across his jaw, his heartbeat racing and thudding in his ears, and then stumbling backwards until his lower back hit the top rail…

…and he fell…

It wasn't a long fall, but it did give Jack just a split second to see the irony. She must have felt like this as she was falling. She must have known she was about to die…

Just as Jack was about to hit the pool of chemicals below, he began to smile…

It was just too damn hilarious…

What a joke!

…

…

…

_Get up!_

_Get up, now!_

_You have to wake up!_

His eyes fluttered open and everything was a red, hazy blur. His skin felt as though it was being eaten away and every nerve ending in his body was screaming in pain. For a moment, he knew he was dead.

And, he was burning… oh, God, the pain was unbearable…

But, wait, why was he still in pain?

With death, wasn't there supposed to be peace?

He suddenly felt the caustic chemicals he had breathed in begin to bubble in his esophagus and he ripped the red mask from his face just in time as they flooded up from his lungs and spilled from his mouth and nostrils. He tried to suck in air between retches, but there was just too much of it. What a horrible way to go; spewing poisons that burned the lining of your windpipe as you suffocated on the bank of a river.

He crawled to the water and splashed it against his skin in an attempt for some relief. Jesus Christ, he was burning alive. His vision was gone… he could see light, but nothing else… nothing concrete enough to actually count as an image…

How had this happened?

He couldn't remember anything…nothing about the robbery… not even the drive to the chemical plant. His last cognitive, tangible memory was of having a fight with Jeannie. But… what was it even over? Vince?

Yes…

That was is it!

She told him she had kissed Vince and they had argued…

And…Vince, was blackmailing him…

Was Vince there with him at Ace? Was he still inside? Had he fled?

What the hell happened?

He tried to stand, but his body was too weak. He felt as if a thousand pounds was atop his shoulders and holding him down in the mud and gunk building up next to the river. He lied there for hours, slowly inching his way away from the chemical plant. His vision had returned, but only slightly, he could now make out fuzzy shapes- at least it was an improvement.

He had to get home. He had to know where Vince was. Who had he told? Where was Jeannie? The kids?

He found the strength to pull himself to his car, and after much grunting, and pushing, and prodding he was able to lift himself up into the driver's seat. He squinted at the speedometer and was just able to make out the numbers… that was good enough for him…

…and Jack Napier went home.

**He crashed** through the front door around three in the morning. His vision was moderately enhanced, but the fire across his skin was only building with every passing minute. He thought about shouting out for Jeannie through the darkness, but decided against it. It was late, and she and the kids were probably sleeping. Waking them up would only provoke wrath from his slumbering wife, and if his memory were serving him, their fight had been a rather hefty one… and certainly one that he would be feeling the effects from for a while.

He stumbled up the stairs, through their bedroom door, and to the shower. After washing the corrosive liquid from his skin, he tripped back into their bedroom and rummaged through the closet for anything he could get his hands on, and he mindlessly grabbed the first thing he touched.

"Jeannie," he said in a hushed voice in the direction of the bed. "I know it's late, honey. I'm sorry."

Nothing...

Not even the ruffle of sheets from her turning over in the bed.

"Jeannie?" He again asked, then clicked on the lamp, to discover his empty bed.

Where the hell was she?

"Jeannie!" He shouted down the hall. "Jeannie!" Then it hit him full force. Oh, no! She must have left him. Their fight must have been so horrendous that she thew him away. Then an even more terrible thought entered his mind- what if she left him for Vince?

What if his beloved wife had packed her bags, taken his children, and left with Vince Carpenetti…

NO!

He rushed down the stairs, hitting every light switch as he went, and shouting her name into the tomblike silence of his home. "Jeannie! Please! For the love of God! Please!"

Goddamnit, his eyes! It was just like trying to look through frosted glass. As he moved he bumped and stumbled against tables and coatracks that he mindlessly tossed out of his way. But, when his feet hit something large and hard, laying in a heap beside the stairs it gave him pause. And then, a little trickle of dread began to drip down his spine. He looked down and blinked through the ambiguous edges of his vision, until his eyes focused enough to see a mess of blonde curls splayed across the floor.

"Jeannie!" he screeched as he sunk to his knees beside her and began to touch her limp body. "No! Please, God…no!"

She had done it this time. She had killed herself. She must have thrown herself from the second story landing. He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a hard shake. This wasn't like last time. When she had slit her wrists she was mumbling and making small, doleful movements… but now… now she was dead.

He put his forehead against hers and knotted his fingers through her hair. "Please wake up! Please, baby, wake up."

Then he noticed her arms… her little delicate arms with big, ugly scratches running from her wrists to her elbows… and then…

…then he remembered.

He remembered it all. He killed Vince; smashed his skull in with a wrench and left his corpse to rot in the trunk of his car in the garage. Frankie ratted him out to Sal, and Sal was planning to kill him and his family; make an example out of the Napiers. Jeannie confessed to hearing voices, to deliberately throwing herself down a flight of stairs, and killing Patrick.

And…no…no… it was too much he couldn't think of what happened next… it hurt too much. It would kill him…

_Wake up now!_

But, he couldn't stop it. Again, he could see his dead children. Again, he could feel the hatred radiating from his bones as he pushed Jeannie…

…and he could remember falling himself.

Falling into those chemicals that ate away at his skin and burned his insides raw…

… and he could remember what made him fall.

The Batman…

It was then that he first caught sight of his hands. Wait, no, not his hands, but hands somehow attached to his body. They couldn't have belonged to him, though. But, he could feel them wrapped in Jeannie's hair. He could turn them from one side to the other. His wedding ring was even on the left ring finger.

But, they weren't his.

They were white. Not just pale, but white. Like a ghost, or a skeleton, or a…a…clown.

He felt tears begin to brim at his eyes, and he sucked in a sharp breath. He had to be dreaming. This wasn't real. This was just a god-awful nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. He growled in anger as he began to slap himself against his forehead, and pull at his hair, and claw his skin.

"Why can't I wake up," he moaned as he lied flat against the floor and stared into the face of his wife, who was just as lovely in death as she was in life. "Why can't I just wake up?"

It was a low, grinding whine cutting through the silence and bright streams of morning sun glaring through the windows that finally made Jack stir. His body ached and he groaned in pain as his stiff muscles cracked and popped as he moved. His eyes first came to Jeannie… his mind didn't even give him the luxury of forgetting this time. Never before in his life had he realized what a curse remembering could be. If only he could have stayed on that river bank, maybe he would have forgotten forever.

His throat was hoarse and raw, and he swallowed dryly as he rose to his feet. He could finally place the noise that had roused him awake. It was the sound of Todd Willis' rusted out, old lawn mower firing up. What the hell, was that idiot doing, mowing the lawn at this time of the morning? Didn't he realize that half the neighborhood was still asleep?

Jack's kids were still…

No…

He ran his hands through his hair, then stumbled over to the mirror that hung beside the door. He hadn't gotten a good look at himself since the night before. His skin must have been minced- if it was even still there. He remembered fondly the day before standing in front of that mirror, checking his reflection and straightening his tie, as Jeannie gave him a sweet embrace. Oh, how he wished he could feel her now.

Jack always hated the fact that he could have been twins with his father. And, on every occasion, taking a look at himself was a bit startling. But, Joseph Napier was part of his identity. Jack knew who he was and he took comfort in it, just as everyone else does. Everyone has something that makes them who they are, and for Jack looking like his father was part of who he was. Ballet was part of Jeannie's identity and when she lost that…well, she stopped being Jeannie. It was traumatic…

And, taking in the sight of himself on this day, was traumatic for Jack. At first he did a double take. Who was this? _What_ was this, looking back at him? His black hair, his pink flesh… where were they? What stood before him was a monster with skin that looked as if it had been slathered with greasepaint, and dark green hair and red stained lips… and to top it off he wore the stupid purple suit that he had worn as a gag to his high school prom.

…this was not Jack Napier.

This was not the man who had been married to the same woman for eleven years…

This was not the man who had happily fathered three children, anticipated the birth of a fourth, and grieved daily for one that was lost.

Who was this?

Who the hell was this?

His breath rattled around in his throat and began to escape him in little choppy bursts that mingled somewhere between snickering and crying. And, then the dam broke… what could have been mistaken for the beginnings of a wailing fit of tears, became thunderous waves of laughter. Laughter that shook his entire body… laughter that made his soul curl into a ball and hide away in fear… laughter that caused his insides to seize up in pain… and laughter that caused him to ball his fist and send it dead into the reflection of the creature that he now was.

As the shards of glass began to fall away from the mirror, that Jeannie had so proudly hung by herself, he saw just how phony, and contrived, and pretentious Crown Point Estates was… and especially the house that he built within it. Oh, yes, he had thought of how artificial it all seemed, but now it was so glaringly evident that it couldn't be ignored.

His beautiful, ideal family was dead in the house that he struggled to build for them.

His sick, deranged wife placed her hands around the necks of his children and pushed her fingers into their flesh until she had stolen the life from their helpless bodies.

He deliberately pushed her, knowing full well that the fall would kill her...

One of his neighbors was rotting and festering in the trunk of his car.

And, he looked like a goddamned demented clown...

Everything was fucked up... and disgusting... and tragically, tragically real...

…yet the fat neighbor with balding red hair still mowed his grass.

…the sprinklers still popped up and twirled on the front lawn.

…spoiled children still woke up to sugary cereal being poured out in chipped bowls and placed before mind-numbing cartoons.

...everything went on in it's bleedingly, nauseating perfection...as if it really meant something...

As if it couldn't all be destroyed and knocked down like a house of cards in the blink of an eye.

It was all so ridiculous…

And sad…and pathetic…and futile….

So obscene…

And, unbelievably, undeniably…

Funny…

* * *

><p>According to Jane Willis, who had told the story many, many, many times in the following years, everything worked out as well as it could have. "I mean," she would always add, and here she would give a little shudder, "I mean it was pretty much the worse thing we had ever been through." Then she would cut her eyes to Todd and give him a slight nod. "Well, of course other than our son, Russ, passing away. That was worse… but for different reasons… isn't that right, honey?"<p>

This would cue Todd to agree that it certainly was. His role during these recitals was to sit and stare gravely at the carpet, occasionally shaking his head or flexing his bite, until she prompted him to make certain corroborations. He was happy enough to let her do most of the talking- or rather, he was glad of it in the beginning, throughout the rest of the summer, fall and winter of the year that it happened. She would tell anybody who was willing to listen, which was most people. A mother killing her children was unspeakably taboo- even for Gotham City. Talking about it was a cheap form of therapy. He would often find her staring out their bedroom window at the Napier house, or standing on the front stoop twisting her fingers at her waist, as another morbid sightseer would slow down in front of the ill-famed house, only to point and stare, make a few snide remarks, then slowly pull away. So, at first, he was more than willing to let her talk… she needed it. But, by spring of the next year, and the years after, he wished she would find something else to talk about.

And his annoyance grew all but intolerable on a Friday evening in March, seven years later, when she was going over the whole incident with a reporter named, Gwen Importico, from some rag magazine in Gotham. Every time his wife had performed her monologue before, it had been to a house guests, or people on the subway, or unsuspecting women sitting in waiting rooms, but this was the first time she had spoken to someone in the press. To Todd, it seemed like a betrayal and a sacrilege, somehow, to be telling the horrible story of people who were once good friends to a woman who would just twist the story, write half-truths, and then print it up to make a dime. That was part of the trouble… it just seemed wrong. And, it was partly because Miss Importico made for such a dull audience, nodding and shaking her polite, well-educated head in remorse for a family that she had never known, but was more than willing to write about.

But, what bothered Todd the most was that Jane's voice had taken on just a little too much of a voluptuous narrative pleasure. _She is enjoying this… really getting a goddamn kick out of it_, he thought, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she came to the part where she would always describe the Napiers as a little neurotic, but nice enough. "Apparently they fought a lot, but believe me, seeing them together, you would have never known they were anything but deliriously happy… he sure did love her… didn't he, sweetie?"

"Uh…yes…yes, he really did."

Gwen Importico was young, bored, and ambitious. She was a recent graduate of the Gotham State University School of Journalism, and she was damn proud of it, decorating her cramped office at The Gotham Tattler with her crisp, framed diplomas and accolades. She had always been one of those girls that flew under the radar; unpopular in high school, not many friends, graduating at the top of her class, but being passed over for jobs at more reputable magazines. When the story was being shopped around it was overlooked by The Gotham Gazette and Gotham City Times… even being laughed at by her own tabloid colleagues as unprintable garbage dreamed up by kooks- this from a magazine who readily printed articles about giant crocodiles in the Gotham City sewer system. Even though it earned her some pretty rough heckling, she saw an opportunity and jumped for it. If there was any weight to it, this could be her big break… who knows, maybe she could write a book about it someday.

"So, Mrs. Willis-"she started.

"Jane, please…"

"Jane," Gwen clicked her pen, pushed back a lock of her brownish/blonde hair that was cut just an inch too short, and then gave her most friendly smile. "Tell me about Crown Point Estates?"

Jane narrowed her eyes then gave a brief, startled look around her home. She had been thrown off by that question. She expected this thready, obviously over-eager young girl to jump right in… ask the big question… invoke the name that Jane had said under her breath ever since Todd pointed out the resemblance between Jack and… and…and _him… _that thing_…_ that monster…a few weeks prior. "Oh…well… it was just the most lovely neighborhood. The houses were all new and polished. There were nice sidewalks for children to play on, and lots and lots of trees. It was a real wholesome place. The kinda place that makes you feel warm and safe. No one could have expected…" She sighed and ran her hand over her throat as if she were feeling faint. "You know, what they call that neighborhood now? Toxic Acres…. That is what they call it." Her tone became outraged and her skin began to flush. "Can you believe that? It was such a nice little place… then after the Napiers…well… the place just dried up. Then the next year a truck carrying chemicals crashed over a guardrail…we had to evacuate." Her expression was painted with a sad sentimentality. "That's what brought us back to the city…"

Gwen nodded her head in quick, astute movements that were in time with Jane's words in a way that showed Todd that she really wasn't listening. She was simply being polite and building a rapport until she got to the meat of the story. This girl obviously liked her stories to be neat, clean, and to have a point. And, the only reason she was giving Jane's any thought was to tie up loose ends. "And, when did you meet the Napiers?"

Jane seemed to regain her footing, straightening her back and pulling down her skirt. "Well, I suppose I first met Jack when he was closing on the property. I had noticed him wondering about with a contractor… so… I just walked over to introduce myself… well, we were going to be neighbors after all." Jane made a little hissing laugh as she realized how nosy this must have seemed.

"And, the wife?" Gwen pushed her glasses up over her wide set eyes.

"Oh, I guess about six weeks later, when they moved in. She was a little shy, y'know. But very, very sweet. She liked to keep to herself, though… not much of a social butterfly."

"Did you know the children?"

Jane's eyes became wide and a tight smile crossed her quivering lips. "Oh yes. The little one a…aaa… Maggie, well, she was just a baby. But, the oldest girl, Heather, she was real precocious and pretty… one of those girls that was going to grow up to be prom queen. The boy, Sullivan, he was very quiet. A little awkward because he was so tall… kinda bashful. But, oh boy, did he idealize his father." She stopped then and moved a little closer to Todd. She knew her next words always made his stomach twist. "I think about that little boy a lot. I think… I think when he died…well… as awful as it is, I think he probably didn't fight. He probably just accepted what was happening…" Her voice became small and trailed off at the end.

Gwen looked up from her notepad, and gave a thoughtful wrinkle of her brow, fully taking in the gravity of what was just said. The air seemed to become a little thicker and she felt a very distinct tug of nervousness pull in her chest. "Can you tell me about that day? You were the one who found them, correct?"

"I was," said Jane in a very clinical, matter-of-fact way… it was obviously a question she had answered a countless number of times. "I watched the kids the night before because Jeannie was complaining of being sick… she was pregnant, y'know. Well, the next day, I hadn't seen her… or Jack… or the kids. "She made sure to take full pauses and punctuate all of her words to emphasis her rising alarm. "I called… and called… and called… finally, well, I had just worried myself to tears, so I simply had to go over to check on them." Jane scooted to the edge of her seat and placed her hands lightly on her wrinkled knees. "I knocked several times and after there was no answer, I found the spare key they kept above the doorframe… and let myself in."

"And?"

"And there she was. She was lying on the floor in this little, sad, twisted position… and there was a broken mirror by the door. The entire house just felt…it felt… it felt." Her features wrinkled and her posture became indignant as she thought about what had happened to her perfect street, in her perfect neighborhood when she made that gruesome discovery. "It just felt bad… like it had spoiled."

Gwen diligently took notes, pushing up her glass between every few sentences and giving both Todd and Jane inquisitive glances. "And, Vince Carpenetti, can you tell me about him?"

This is where Todd always had to get up and excuse himself from the conversation. He couldn't stand the way Jane would always swing both of her legs up on to the couch behind her in one awkward movement, then clasp her fingers together while shaking her head and saying, "Well, Vince and Jeannie were close… a little too close, y'know. So, I think Jack just got jealous and killed him." She would always then grin morbidly and say, "It's kinda romantic… loving someone that much."

What the hell kind of statement was that. How stupid and morose, and frankly, disturbing was that. The fact of the matter was that Jack did kill Vince out of some misplaced territorial jealousy. But, to call it anything other than what it was: cruel, sadistic, evil… well that was just asinine.

Todd's hands began to shake and he felt tears begin to moisten his cheeks. Even after all of these years he couldn't shake it… the horrible, soul-crushing guilt. If only he had spoken up… maybe he could have stopped it. He remember walking down to the cul-de-sac one sunny morning the week before it happened, to say good morning to Jeannie, who was watching Maggie and Heather drawing on the pavement with chalk.

She looked perfectly normal… cheery even as she smiled brightly and flipped her hair behind her ear, as a pleasant, "Good mornin', Todd. How are you?" slipped from her pale lips.

He made small talk with her: _Oh, the weather has been nice. Jack's birthday party went off without a hitch… _little things to fill the air and make it less awkward that he felt the need to walk to the end of his driveway just to talk to the neighbor's pretty, young wife.

Then she said the oddest thing, as a little worried v formed between her eyebrows. "Jack's a good man isn't he, Todd? I mean, I know he is a good man, but do you think he could ever hate me?"

Todd just assumed that there had been an argument. Just a lover's spat… nothing to worry about. "Ahh, no Jeannie! Believe me, Jack could never hate you."

She nodded and her face smoothed in relaxation. "That's good. Could you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Could you keep an eye on him for me… it's goin' to be hard on him…" And then she stopped and went back to watching the children as if she hadn't even noticed that Todd was standing next to her.

How could he not have said something to Jack?

He began to bite down on his fist in an attempt to stop his tears as he remembered watching the police take their bodies out of the house. One by one… big black bags holding little bodies.

It was his fault!

He stood by his kitchen sink with heaving shoulders, quietly sobbing until he heard Jane call for him. "Oh, I'll be back in a minute, dear."

It was only after Jane finished her second act of the story, that Todd allowed himself back into the conversation. He handed off fresh drinks to his wife and to Gwen Importico, then took his place next to Jane and again began his chore list of well-timed affirmations, while trying to keep his reddened eyes and running nose out of sight.

"Do you think the wife, Jeannie, do you think that she jumped or do you think she was pushed?" Gwen asked barely looking up from her notepad.

"Oh, I think it was pretty evident that she jumped." Jane said in a tone that was crudely jovial. "She had these huge scars on her wrists… she was obviously a little off." She then pointed at her head and made a face that would've been almost comical if she weren't so involved in such a serious conversation.

"Jane," Gwen started, letting her shoulders fall in a disappointed sway. "I was only about fifteen when this incident took place, but I remember it well, it was all over the television and newspapers… the rumor was that the husband." She looked down at her notes to remind herself. "Jack, ran away with a high school sweetheart, and that is what prompted Jeannie to kill her children… there hasn't been any evidence to prove otherwise and there have been many, many journalist, and psychoanalysts, and investigators research this case for years… even you admit that you believed those to be the facts. Why the sudden change of heart?"

Jane licked her lips and took Todd's hands. She had been preparing herself for this very question, but now that it was upon her, it seemed so astoundingly unlikely that she could barely form the words. "A few weeks ago Todd and I were talking about the Napiers. We were just reminiscing about Crown Pointe and Jack's thirty-fifth birthday party. And the kids, and Jeannie… we brought out some old pictures." She stopped and her expression darkened. "That's when Jack Ryder broke into the program we were watching for a special report. Ummm…ummm." Her breathing became shallow and she looked as if she were about to cry. She couldn't even bring herself to say his name. "He had escaped from Arkham again… he killed five guards… five! And, he's still on the loose…" Her eyes widened. "Anyway, they put a picture of him up on the screen and that's when Todd noticed it. He said, 'Look at him, Jane. Look at him! Doesn't he look just like Jack Napier? And, he robbed that bank two weeks after Jack disappeared.' If you know my Todd, well, then you know he doesn't get worked up about too much. But, this…this shook him. And, he is right y'know? Jeannie and Batman were the only things in the news for weeks…until he came along."

"Why did you feel it important to contact the police and newspapers, Jane? Reward money?"

Jane looked offended and repulsed, and she made a clicking sound with her tongue as her body became rigid. "No, of course not! I thought it was the right thing to do. Nobody knows where he came from…rumor has it, he doesn't even know. But, what if someone got to the bottom of it? Could that help? Could that save lives? Someone has to stop him? Maybe this would do it… or at least slow him down."

Gwen then sat back and steepled her fingers in her lap. "You keep saying _him_. Him...him...him...never a name. Who is he? Who are you talking about?" She knew exactly who Jane was speaking of, but she needed to hear it. If she wanted to ever be considered a reputable journalist she needed Jane to actually say it. Give some credit to the story.

Jane pursed her lips and looked as if she were about to be ill. At first, she had refused to even acknowledge that Jack Napier and that beast could be the same person, but she had to admit… it was just too much of a coincidence. The likeness was too sharp. She shook her head then cleared her throat.

"The Joker."

**Fin  
><strong>

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><p>There you have it, friends! This story is dedicated to the readers! Thank you so much! Love you all and please stay tuned for the epilogue!<p>

And, just a little fun fact, Jack's transformation into The Joker was inspired by a picture by the amazing Alex Ross of Joker seeing his reflection for the first time, then smashing a mirror. I'm sure many of you have seen it, and if you haven't take a moment to look it up! You won't be sorry!


	26. Epilogue: Folie à deux

And scene, lol! Here is your epilogue! Thank you for reading and thank you: Anonymous Rex, EthanFlux, Han, Nicky, guest, Nibbythehedgehog, The Mad Fiddler, and kendramccormick… for reviewing the last chapter! You guys are fantastic!

Please enjoy, and please let me know if you are interested in a sequel!

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><p>"<strong>Remember? Oh, I wouldn't do that! Remembering's dangerous. I find the past such a worrying, anxious place…the past tense I suppose, you'd call it. Memory's so treacherous, one moment you're lost in a carnival of delights with poignant childhood aromas, the flashing neon of puberty, all that sentimental candy-floss… the next, it leads you somewhere you don't want to go… somewhere dark and cold, filled with the damp, ambiguous shapes of things you'd hoped were forgotten. Memories can be vile, repulsive little brutes. Like children, I suppose. But can we live without them? Memories are what our reason is based upon. If we can't face them, we deny reason itself! Although, why not? We aren't contractually tied down to rationality! There is no Sanity Clause. So, when you find yourself locked onto an unpleasant train of thought, heading for the places in your past where the screaming is unbearable, remember there's always madness. Madness is the emergency exit… you can just step outside and close the door on all those dreadful things that happened. You can lock them away… forever."<strong>

**-The Joker, The Killing Joke-**

**Epilogue: Folie à deux**

Waking is an almost fetal state. You surface with no past… no history, then spend the blinks and yawns reassembling your memory, shuffling the shards into a spotty chronological order before fortifying yourself against the present and whatever horrors it might bring.

He spent a full minute drifting in the warm, ambiguous blanket of semi-consciousness. In that moment he was young again, in his early twenties, living in a shitty apartment, in an even shittier neighborhood. He had a girlfriend- a lithe young woman with curly blonde hair and willowy figure, who made love to him readily and liked to smoke expensive cigarettes while she listened to him yarn on about his day. He imagined that she lied there with him; her naked young body was curled up next to his, or maybe she was sitting on the front stoop of their building drinking coffee.

This was a cruel joke of the mind, yes, but one that he had long ago accepted the logic of.

What was far crueler were the ways in which a seemingly illogical list of objects could trigger memories of a life, long past lived, that would lodge itself in his brain like a lit match and burn him to his core. He could never predict what one of the objects would be or what recollections it could evoke: a salt shaker, the sway of the hips of a strange woman on a crowded street, a carnival poster, a smudge of lipstick on a glass, a throw pillow, a child's doll.

And, _she_ would show up eagerly, as if she were knocking on the flood gates in his brain, begging for him to let her in. Pleading for him to crack the doors just wide enough for her to stick her foot in and force him to look at her. She would manifest in different forms, sometimes she would be an angel. The sweetest, most supportive woman on earth. She loved him despite his shortcomings. She supported him no matter what. She held him up when he quit his good paying job to be a pitiful standup comedian- he lost her. Other times she belonged to someone else- a mentor that would speak about her with the milky eyes of nostalgia. Sometimes she was a girlfriend, who died the day before their wedding. Then at times she would appear to him with a mutilated face after she'd gambled her way into disfigurement.

Then there was the sorrowful ballerina that he had just allowed the seep into his thoughts. Of course, he knew that she could have been a phantom fashioned in the dark corners of his mind, but, in the same token, she could have been real. SHE COULD HAVE BEEN! And, the mere prospects, that a creature such as her could have existed and could have belonged to him was enough to cause him such stress and grief that the idea of leaving her behind in his memory was almost unbearable. He would will his eyes to stay closed. Just to smell her. To imagine her. To feel her. To create her in his mind and hold her there.

But, remembering her was just as traumatic. He would've preferred to do just about anything than think of Jeannie Dupree-Napier, or the facts that surrounded her being on this earth for thirty-one years and then ceasing to be. Just like that. There when he left for work that morning. Gone by the afternoon. God, she was magnificent. Her beauty, her touch. How was his heart supposed to beat without her? She brought out the best and worst of him. A side of himself that he had never seen… and that he wasn't even sure really existed.

No matter what form she took on, she always had the same infectious smile and laugh that would crescendo into a snort after she indulged his bad jokes…

But, she was gone…

Nothing more than faded scraps.

Dusty bones in a box…

In the seven years since he had taken a nosedive into a batch of toxic chemicals, the ballerina, had only shown herself three times. Once in the first few weeks of his new life. He was by the docks and his eyes focused on a yellowed scrap of newspaper that had been trampled over and left to rot in a sodden crevasse in the street.

**Suburban Mother of Three, Kills Children**

The headline hit him head-on and with such gut-wrenching force, that he woke three days later in the back of an abandoned dock house, curled into a fetal position and surrounded by a pool of his own vomit.

Then she ebbed into a shadowy place in his subconscious that he feared and vowed to never open the gates upon again. But, he couldn't hold her back…he tried but he couldn't… not when that girl-that girl clad in black and red, whose name seemed as feasible to recall as climbing Everest- came to him with trembling hands and watery eyes. She splayed out a magazine in front of him and with a squeaking voice asked, "Is…is this true, Puddin'?"

His eyes glossed over the words, but the name of the reporter stuck out, Gwen Importico… then the neighbors, Todd and Jane Willis… Jeannie Napier... Jack Napier….

Heather…

Sullivan…

Maggie…

…The Joker…

It felt like a saw blade was being raked across his brain.

Maybe it was the way her voice shook and her blue eyes filled with tears...

Maybe it was the way she dropped the "g" at the end of her word...

But, before he could stop himself, his hands were around her little throat. He held her down in a death grip until she stopped struggling against him.

He wondered briefly if she was dead as he let go of her and listened to her body hit the ground with a small, tragic thud. He gave the back of her head a little kick, then listened as she took in a sputtering gasp of air.

Then his vision went black.

It cleared sometime later, and he found himself in a grimy bed, in an abandoned building in The Bowery, clutching a pillow between his boney fingers, with a sore throat and dried, cracked lips.

She told him she loved him….

If she loved him...why'd she leave him?

He hated, yet longed for this version of his wife the most…

This was the account of her that left him the most shaken… the most destroyed.

And, he had hoped that she would be forever gone. Or, maybe, just maybe, the white skin and green hair was just the dream… the nightmare…

…and he would wake to find her still his young girlfriend, or the supportive wife of a failing comedian… or the mother of his children.

But that wasn't to be…

This time it was the feeling of tiny house-fly legs, tickling across the bridge of his nose that roused him from his sedation and reminded him that she was not within arm's reach. He tried to lift his hands to slap it away, but was met with the hard, cold steel of shackles slamming against his skin, and holding him in place. Cascading light, that he at first thought was morning sun shining through the curtains of his apartment, began to take shape, as his eyelids fluttered open, into the round, eclipsing starkness of exam room lamps.

An electric surge of panic assaulted every nerve ending in his body, and he sat forward with a jolt, blurting out, "Where is she?!"

His frantic eyes swept through the room, to find a small girl, who looked to be about nineteen, standing at the door, frozen in terror. As she became rigid, he had a moment to read her name tag: Stephanie Brown, Registered Nursing Student. Poor kid… how did she get the luck to have a psychiatric clinical rotation on the day that he would be captured?

She stood there for another beat- with a scream pulsating in her throat, just waiting for her to open her mouth and let it out- before she slammed through the door, and began to shout for help.

_"Oh, don't be afraid of him… he is sedated. And, if he wakes we will give him another dose… plus he is restrained," _they surely said to her as she protested with,_ "but, I am just a student._"

He shut his eyes and resigned himself to the fact that she wasn't there. Suddenly, he felt terrible, as if he had been drug behind a vehicle… or thrown from a building… or beaten by a bat. Even breathing seemed impossible, as with every breath he took, hot strips of pain would sear across his chest and down to his abdomen.

He ran his tongue across his lips and let out a dissatisfied grunt as he settled his head back against the bed. He was dressed in the standard Arkham Inmate- no, Arkham Patient- grey uniform. He was manacled at the wrists and ankles with thick steel cuffs, and two leather straps cinched across his chest kept his torso immobile. This was not an unfamiliar set of circumstances for him. He surmised quickly that he must have been pretty roughed up by the Bat- also not unfamiliar- and bought into the Arkham's medical facility where they would poke and jab at him for a few days before they happily shipped him over to the Intensive Treatment Ward.

He looked up as his room door opened and Stephanie Brown- RN student, reappeared, flanked by another nurse who had treated him several times before, named Cheryl McNeil, who had shoulders broad enough to put a linebacker to shame and a scowl that would have sent shivers down the spine of even the saltiest of sailors. "You scared my student, pretty badly. What did you say to her?" she asked as she walked up to him and put an intrusive hand against his carotid to check his pulse.

"I'm hurt; you think I would say something inappropriate to a youngster like her? What do you think I am… some kind of sicko?"

"He asked, 'where is she?'" Stephanie squeaked.

Cheryl looked back to him and gave him a half-cocked grin. "Who? Harley? She's been back with us for three weeks. The muscles and ligaments in her neck are healing nicely. She should be off the vent soon. She was lucky this time. How very gallant of you to ask about her, for once. One might even mistake you for someone who cares."

Stephanie Brown watched the muscles in his face twitch as his armor faltered for a split second. She took a wavering step forward and folded her arms across her chest. "That's not the_ she_ he was asking about?"

Cheryl gave him a quick glance, then lifted his shirt and sent her fingertips straight into his left side. "Oh…. Well, you were pretty restless in your sleep. Saying things like: I love you, please don't go. Laughing and even crying… I thought you were just having nightmares again. But, you've got another girl now…"

"Oh, Ms. McNeil, don't you know my heart only beats for you," he said, as he held back a grunt of pain and closed his eyes tightly. "Especially, with your magic fingers."

"This isn't getting better," she said pressing a little harder. "I've palpated your side several times while you've been sedated and you've grimaced and groaned…each time worse than the last. The doctor will be in to discuss the results of your x-rays."

His eyes slowly opened and he gave her a mocking shocked expression. "Palpating an unconscious man? And, I've always thought you were a lady. I will presume it was also you who took off my clothes and redressed me… I feel violated. You owe me dinner now."

She scribbled down a few notes on a chart, then looked up and gave him a smile that could have been mistaken as friendly. "Always a charmer. Doctor Langham will be in soon." She made a quick gesture to the nursing student, then they both disappeared through the door.

As the door swung backwards, his eyes focused through the small vertical strip of glass in the door, across the hall, and into the next room.

And, every muscle in his body went taut...

A blonde woman, beautiful, her face blemished by dark rings under the eyes. The eyes themselves were too wide, as if something hot were prodding them from inside her head. She was looking in his direction, but not actually at him, more through him. She wasn't seeing him at all… he simply faded into the wall, in her line of vision. Her face was twisted in grief and soul crushing terror. Whatever she was seeing beyond the door of her room, beyond the hallway, beyond him, beyond the wall at his back…

…beyond anything in the known world probably…

…wasn't fit to be seen.

There was something uncomfortably, undeniably familiar about her, and then he made the connection- the woman who lived so uninhibitedly in his memory- the ballerina, the day she went into labor with the boy, on the car ride to the hospital she laid her head against the headrest in the car, taking in the April sun, with the same look of alarm in her eyes.

His chest tightened as the realization took him over that this was her…

_This was her_… the ghost who haunted his dreams… here she was, in the flesh, just a few feet away.

He could then remember what started his mind off on the hellacious train of thought that brought about a wife that he thought he murdered… dead children that she did murder…

He was thrashing around as they brought him on a stretcher into the medical facility. His body was overridden with pain. Angry streams of black, bloody vomit spewed from his mouth and over his clothing as each of his limbs were grabbed and shackled down.

"Where is this blood coming from?" A worried, shrill voice rang in his ears.

"I…I don't know. He must… he must have some kind internal bleeding."

"Sedate him until we can examine him more thoroughly… begin lightly, then up the dose if he continues to fight."

"GET THOSE CHEST STRAPS OVER HIM!"

He was lying there fighting against the hands of sleep when he first caught sight of her. Her frightened eyes grabbed his attention first. _Those eyes_, he thought. Even from a room away, they howled. Then, as he looked at her bony, gaunt frame, and her filthy hair matted against her face, he felt something that he didn't even know he could feel… compassion. Actual, sympathy for another human being. He wanted to crawl to her and hold her hand, press her against his chest and say, "No, no, no. It's okay. Sssh." He wanted to hold her until the shakes stopped, tell her that everything would be alright.

That was when a gaggle of medical students crowded in front of her door, and the shiny bald head of the chief doctor of the medical facility, Herman Langham, obstructed his view. Dr. Langham's voice rose to a loving, almost prideful timbre as he began to present her case as if he were telling a ghost story to a bunch of school children around a campfire.

"This is patient number AA00171", he began," Jeannine Napier. She has been a patient here at Arkham Asylum for seven years. She is thirty-eight years old, and suffering from schizophrenia, bi-polar disorder, and psychotic tendencies. Many of you may remember what brought her here, as it was a very high profile case. She asphyxiated her three children in her suburban home, then after the deed was done she became lucid, and tried to commit suicide by throwing herself over the second story landing. She lied there for several hours before she was discovered by a neighbor. She was pregnant at the time, and subsequently suffered a miscarriage. She also suffered three crushed vertebra, a broken femur, a broken arm, and head trauma."

"What about her husband?" The boisterous voice of a young man interrupted.

"He's whereabouts are unknown."

"Are they? An article just came out a few weeks ago connecting her to one of the more notable patients in the Asylum. It also accused him of pushing her, rather than her jumping."

Dr. Langham's brow dropped. "Uh… that publication is simply a tabloid… the information can't be trusted."

"The information came from the neighbor that discovered her."

"We won't be discussing it."

"But, he has used the name Jack Napier as an alias many times…"

"He has also used a variety of other aliases as well. Let me remind you that this was a very highly publicized case. The name Jack Napier was published multiple times and part of public record. We won't be discussing it any further." His voice was authoritative and stark. "Let's move on, please. Use extreme caution when interacting with her. She is violent both to staff and herself, thus we keep her heavily sedated. We have made multiple attempts to discontinue sedation, but every time we do, she relapses. She begins lucid, even cooperative, then she begins to stare into corners for days at a time, then she starts having nightmares about her children, then she becomes a safety risk. She has blinded an orderly by scratching their eyes and she has broken the bones of numerous staff members. To herself, she has bitten chunks out of her wrists, tried to hang herself, and she has only partial vision in her left eye after she attempted to claw her eyes out. She is now being treated in the medical facility because her psychiatrist, Dr. Bartlett, is attempting to." Here he let out a cynical laugh. "To once again wean her from her sedatives. This time, she tried to cut her throat with a shard of glass she smuggled into her cell."

"Can you tell us about Dr. Bartlett?"

"Uh, yes." Dr. Langham began wearily. "He is new to the facility. He has had experience with mothers who have committed filicide before, most notably the case of a mother in Texas who drowned her five children. He came here specifically for this patient. He hopes to rehabilitate her." The laugh was evident in his expression. He looked as if he were holding it in his mouth and tasting it before letting it go.

"And, you don't think that is possible."

"I think he, Dr. Bartlett, is young and idealistic, and has not accepted that some patients are just unreachable."

"What is your recommendation for this patient, Dr. Langham?"

"I will be making a recommendation for a lobotomy to the Asylum board. She is a liability to the staff of this facility."

"And, other patients are not?"

"Those other patients are not in vegetative states…. Let's move on to our next patient. Number AA00243 Harleen Quinzel. She has been in the medical ward for twenty-one days, currently intubated and breathing with the assistance of a ventilator…." His voice trailed off as the entire crowd shuffled away.

This is where he gave into the IV full of sedatives and he allowed his eyes to shut as he drifted into a not so restful sleep...

...and he remember...

her...

...

...

And now, in full alertness and wakefulness, here she was again.

No sedatives to fog his mind.

Was this really her?

Was this pitiful creature his?

The thing that took his soul and history, and wiped it clean. The manifestation of his greatest achievements and most horrendous failures…

Was this his Jeannie… his wife… the catalyst to make his heart beat and his blood flow?

Or…

Did he just, as the good doctor said, read the name and insert himself into a memory of a man he had never met. Was he remembering a life that in no way belonged to him? Jeannie… Patrick… Heather… Sullivan… Maggie… their unborn child…

Who did they belong to?

Was this all just a delusion?

His insides began to turn and he didn't know if he were about to cry, or laugh, or scream….

It was then that the door swung open and he was met with Dr. Langham being trailed by fifteen medical students piling into his room and squeezing shoulder to shoulder as they rocked onto their toes to get a better look at him.

_Freak…_

_Sideshow clown…_

_Monster…_

_Disgusting…_

"This is patient number AA00214, The Joker, identity UNKNOWN. We believe him to be between the ages of thirty-nine and forty-two. He is both a sociopath and a psychopath. He is, needless to say, extremely dangerous. Patient is highly intelligent and highly delusional. Known for his proclivity for violence. Continuously shows extreme agitation. Does not respond to treatment of any kind. Shows no remorse for his crimes. Patient has also erected a series of highly developed and highly fantastical narratives for his life prior to his disfigurement to garner both sympathy and followers. It is believed that he doesn't even know the truth of his origins, and his delusions preclude, at this time, his facing the magnitude of his actions. He is being treated in the medical facility today because six weeks ago he escaped with the assistance of Harleen Quinzel, he was apprehended today by the vigilante, Batman. After a struggle he was returned to our care with severe lacerations to the head and neck, as well as, numerous internal injuries. His left abdomen is distended and very painful to the touch."Dr. Langham then shifted slightly to his left, allowing for the woman across the hall to come into view.

Her expression hadn't changed. The hollow, black horror still seeping from her every orifice. Christ, why didn't somebody do something for her? Put her out of her misery… something to make her stop looking towards him with such pleading, mournful eyes.

And, he could stop caring.

Dr. Langham then shuffled through the medical chart and took on a domineering, almost sardonic stature before he strolled to the side of the bed. "Well, from looking at your x-rays, it looks like you may have a ruptured spleen. I will be taking you to surgery within the hour. You've had a bad day, haven't you Joker?"

His eyes were cemented to patient AA00171 and it took a moment to realize the Dr. Langham was speaking to him and not one of the medical students ready to cage fight for the opportunity to take care of him. He blinked then focused on Langham as he took in a deep, shaking breath and grimaced as his expanding lungs sent a rod of pain exploding through his side. He then smiled, a smile that would have been beautiful and exceedingly joyous, had it not been on such an off-putting face.

"Bad day? This? Oh, Doc…"His eyes then moved for a fraction of second back to the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen, lying filthy and alone across the hall, then back to Langham."…believe me… I've had far worse."

* * *

><p><strong>So, this is the bitter end. So very sad, indeed! Now the question… Do you want a sequel? Do you want to explore the asylum and the woman, who may or may not be the Joker's wife, within it? Or, do you want it to be a mystery? I am leaving that up to you. So please let me know your thoughts. <strong>

**If I do write a sequel it will be a few months from now. I need to take some time to step away from Jack Napier and get into the Joker! I also need to flesh out my outline and give it some more life! If I do write a sequel it will be titled: Folie à deux. Which in French mean, "a madness shared by two." It is also the official name of a psychiatric disorder, which will play of big part of said hypothetical sequel.**

**Now, that this housekeeping is out of the way… I want to say thank you! Thank you to every single, solitary person who took the time to read this story. And, especially to those of you who took the time to review! You guys are amazing, and I would have never finished if it weren't for you! I want to say a huge, resounding thank you to Anonymous Rex! You have read been there reviewing since chapter one! There were times that you were my only reviewer and if it had not been for you, this fan fiction would have died on the vine long, long ago! I also need to say a big thank you EthanFlux who has become a friend, and someone who I can talk about fictional characters with as if they were real, and he doesn't think I am crazy! He is also an exceptional writer and inspiration! Thank you, my Aussie friend!**

**This story has been a labor of love. I love DC comics! They are something that I loved throughout my childhood and still love in adulthood! I have always wanted to write a Joker origin, but I didn't want to beat a dead horse. I do take fan fiction seriously; I believe that if you are going to use someone else's characters that you should try to do your best work. I have tried to give my best work to this character that was around long before me, and will still be around long after me!**

**The House That Jack Built, has introduced me to people I would have never gotten to know had I not taken the time to write it. I will always be grateful! I have made wonderful friends through this experience… and I can't wait to make more in future endeavors!**

**I have dedicated this story to you, the reader! I love you all! And, thank you, in advance!**

**I will now be changing the status of this story to complete!**


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